Southern  Branch 
of  the 

University  of  California 

Los  Angeles 


Form  L  1 


STATi  NORMAL  SU. 


I  —    A I.-    .• 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


SEP  4     1931 


1  8  1935 


MAR  26'69 
MAR  '  4  1P69 


Form  L-9-5m-7,'j 


MY  FAEM 


BY  DON?  G.  MITCHELL 


STAT!  NORMAL  SCHOOL, 

f/t? 


MY  FARM 


OF    EDGEWOOD: 


A  COUNTRY  BOOK 


BY  THE  AUTHOR   OF 

"REVERIES  OF  A   BACHELOR" 


— "  it  was  all  grown  over  with  thorns,  and  nettles  covered  the  face 
thereof,  and  the  stone-wall  thereof  was  broken  down.  Then  I  saw  and 
considered  it  well :  I  looked  upon  it,  and  received  instruction" 

— PEOVEBBS  xxiv.  31. 


NEW  YOBK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNERS  SONS 
1884 


COP  TRIG OT,  J863,  fSSJ. 

BY  DONALD  G.  MITCHELL 


TROWS 

PRINTING  AND  BOOKBINDING  COMPANY, 
NEW  YORK. 


PREFACE. 


A  FRIEND  asks, —"Are  you  not  tired,  then,  of 
•*•  *-  that  fancy  of  Farming?  Is  it  not  an  expensive 
amusement ;  is  it  not  a  stupefying  business  ? 

"  Do  you  find  your  brain  taking  breadth  or  color  out 
of  Carrot-raising,  or  Pumpkins  ?  Poultry  is  a  pretty 
thing,  between  Tumblers,  and  Muscovy  ducks  ;  but  can 
you  not  buy  cheaper  than  you  raise,  —  without  the  fret 
of  foxes  and  vermin,  —  in  any  city  market  ? 

"  Shall  I  sell  out  and  join  you  ?  Shall  I  teach  this 
boy  of  mine  (you  know  his  physique  and  that  gray  eye 
of  his,  looking  after  some  eidolon)  to  love  the  country  — 
so  far  as  to  plant  himself  there,  and  grow  into  the  trade 
of  farming  ?  A  victory  over  the  forces  of  nature,  and  of 
the  seasons,  —  compelling  them  to  abundance,  —  is  no 
doubt  large  ;  but  is  not  a  victory  over  the  forces  of 


vi  PREFACE. 

mind,  which  can  only  come  out  of  sharp  contact  with 
the  world,  immensely  larger  ?  " 

In  my  reply,  —  loving  the  country  as  I  do,  and  wishing 
to  set  forth  its  praises  ;  and  believing  as  I  do,  in  the 
God-appointed  duty  of  working  land  to  its  top  limit  of 
producing  power,  —  I  said  a  great  deal  that  looked  like 
a  mild  Georgic. 

And  yet,  with  a  feeling  for  his  poor  boy,  and  a  re- 
membrance of  what  crisp  salads  I  had  found  in  the  city 
markets,  after  mine  were  all  mined  and  devoured  by  the 
field-mice,  —  I  wrote  a  great  deal  that  had  the  twang  of 
Meliboeus  in  the  eclogue, 

EN    IPSE   CAPELLAS 


PROTENUS  /EGER  AGO! 

In  short,  in  my  reply,  I  beat  about  the  bush  :  — so  much 
about  the  bush  in  fact,  that  this  book  came  of  it. 

EDGEWOOD,  1863. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.   THE  SEARCH  AND   FINDING,         .         .  I 

II.   TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND. 

AROUND  THE  HOUSE, 45 

MY  BEES,       .         .         .                  .        .         .  51 

CLEARING  UP, 57 

WHAT  TO  Do  WITH  THE  FARM,  ...  64 

DAIRYING, 69 

LABORERS, 75 

A  SUNNY  FRONTAGE, 93 

FARM  BUILDINGS, 97 

THE  CATTLE, 104 

///.   CROPS  AND  PROFITS. 

THE  HILL  LAND, 117 

THE  FARM  FLAT, 127 

AN  ILLUSTRATION  OF  SOILING,     .        .        .137 

AN  OLD  ORCHARD, 143 

THE  PEARS, 153 

MY  GARDEN, 160 

FINE  TILTH  MAKES  FINE  CROPS,         .        .       165 


viii  CONTENTS. 

FACE 

SEEDING  AND  TRENCHING,  ....  168 
How  A  GARDEN  SHOULD  LOOK,  .  .  .  171 

THE  LESSER  FRUITS, 176 

GRAPES, 184 

PLUMS,  APRICOTS,  AND  PEACHES,      .       .        .  189 

THE  POULTRY, 194 

Is  IT  PROFITABLE  ? 202 

DEBIT  AND  CREDIT, 205 

MONEY- MAKING  FARMERS,  .  .  .  .211 
DOES  FARMING  PAY? 218 

IV.  HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS. 

THE  ARGUMENT, 227 

AGRICULTURAL  CHEMISTRY,  .  .  .  229 
A  GYPSEOUS  ILLUSTRATION,  ....  234 
SCIENCE  AND  PRACTICE,  ....  241 

LACK  OF  PRECISION, 248 

KNOWING  TOO  MUCH, 252 

OPPORTUNITY  FOR  CULTURE 256 

ISOLATION  OF  FARMERS,        .        .        .        .261 

DICKERING, 268 

THE  BRIGHT  SIDE, 275 

BUSINESS  TACT, 282 

PLACE  FOR  SCIENCE, 286 

./ESTHETICS  OF  THE  BUSINESS,         .        .        .  291 

WALKS, 296 

SHRUBBERY, 301 

RURAL  DECORATION, 307 

FLOWERS, 314 

L'ENVOI, 325 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING. 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING. 

T  T  was  in  June,  18 — ,  that,  weary  of  a  somewhat 
-*-  long  and  vagabond  homelessness,  during  which 
I  had  tossed  some  half  a  dozen  times  across  the 
Atlantic, — partly  from  health-seeking,  in  part  out  of 
pure  vagrancy,  and  partly  (me  tcedet  meminisse)  upon 
official  errand  —  I  determined  to  seek  the  quiet  of  a 
homestead. 

There  were  tender  memories  of  old  farm  days  in 
my  mind  ;  and  these  were  kindled  to  a  fresh  exu- 
berance and  lustiness  by  the  recent  hospitalities  of 
a  green  English  home,  with  its  banks  of  Laurestina, 
its  broad-leaved  Rhododendrons,  and  its  careless 
wealth  of  primroses.  Of  course  the  decision  was 
for  the  country  ;  and  I  had  no  sooner  scented  the 
land,  after  the  always  dismal  sail  across  the  fog 
banks  of  Georges'  shoal,  than  I  drew  up  an  adver- 
tisement for  the  morning  papers,  running,  so  nearly 
as  I  can  recall  it,  thus  :  — 


4  MY  FARM. 

"  Wanted  —  A  Farm,  of  not  less  than  one  hundred 
acres,  and  within  three  hours  of  the  city.  It  must 
have  a  running  stream,  a  southern  or  eastern  slope, 
not  less  than  twenty  acres  in  wood,  and  a  water 
view." 

To  this  skeleton  shape,  it  was  easy,  with  only  a 
moderately  active  fancy,  to  supply  the  details  of  a 
charming  country  home.  Indeed,  no  kind  of  farm- 
work  is  more  engaging,  as  I  am  led  to  believe,  than 
the  imaginative  labor  of  filling  out  a  pleasant  rural 
picture,  where  the  meadows  are  all  lush  with  ver- 
dure, the  brooks  murmuring  with  a  contented  bab- 
ble, cattle  lazily  grouped,  that  need  no  care,  and 
flowers  opening  that  know  no  culture.  This  kind 
of  farm  work  is  not,  to  be  sure,  very  profitable  ;  and 
yet,  as  compared  with  a  great  deal  of  the  gentleman- 
farming  which  I  have  had  occasion  to  observe,  I 
should  not  regard  it  as  extravagant.  Perhaps  it 
would  not  be  rash  to  put  down  here  some  of  the 
pictures  which  I  conjured  out  of  the  advertisement 

At  times,  it  seemed  to  me  that  an  answer  might 
come  from  some  Arcadia  lying  upon  the  cove  banks 
of  an  inland  river  :  the  cove  so  land-bound  as  to 
seem  like  a  bit  of  Loch  Lomond,  into  which  the 
north  shores  sunk  with  an  easy  slope,  whose  green 
turf  reached  to  the  margin,  and  was  spotted  hero 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  5 

and  there  with  old  and  mossy  orcharding  ;  the  west 
shore  rose  in  a  stiff  bluff  that  was  packed  close  with 
hemlocks  and  maples  ;  while  beyond  the  bluff  a  rat- 
tling stream  came  down  over  mill  dykes  and  through 
swift  sluices,  and  sent  its  whirling  bubbles  far  out 
into  the  bosom  of  the  little  bay.  West  of  the  bluff 
lay  the  level  farm  lands  ;  and  northward  of  the 
green  slope  which  formed  the  northern  shore,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  wooded  hills  would  rise  steep 
and  ragged,  with  such  wildness  in  them  as  would 
make  admirable  setting  for  the  sloping  grass  land 
below,  and  the  Sunday  quiet  of  the  cove.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  possibly  there  might  be  an  oyster  bed 
planted  along  the  shore,  which  would  help  out  the 
salads  that  should  be  planted  above  ;  and,  possibly, 
a  miniature  dock  might  be  thrust  out  into  the 
water,  at  which  some  little  pinnace  might  float,  with 
a  gay  pennant  at  her  truck. 

Possibly  it  does  ;  possibly  there  is  such  a  place  ; 
but  for  me  it  was  only  a  picture. 

Again,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  farm  house  would 
nestle  in  some  little  glen  upon  the  banks  of  a  river, 
where  every  day  crowded  boats  passed,  surging  up 
against  the  current,  or  gliding  down  with  a  meteor- 
like  swiftness. 

In  this  case,  the  slopes  were  many  :  a  slope  east- 
ward from  the  house-door  to  the  banks  of  a  little 


6  MY  FARM. 

brook  that  came  sauntering  leisurely  out  from  the 
wood,  at  the  bottom  of  the  glen ;  a  slope  from  the 
house  up  to  the  hills  piling  westward ;  slopes  on 
either  margin  of  the  glen  ;  and  above  them,  upon 
higher  ground,  pasture  lands  dotted  with  stately 
trees  ;  while  a  fat  meadow  seemed  to  lie  by  the  river 
bank,  where  the  little  brook  came  sauntering  in. 
There,  and  thereabout,  whisking  their  sides,  stood 
the  cattle,  as  in  a  Flemish  picture  —  as  true,  as  still, 
and  just  as  real  There  may  be  such  cattle  whisk- 
ing their  tails,  but  they  are  none  of  mine. 

Then, —  it  seemed  the  home  should  be  upon  an 
island,  looking  down  and  off  to  the  sea,  where  ships 
shortened  sail,  and  bore  up  for  the  channel  buoys, 
which  lay  bobbing  on  the  water.  There,  the  farm 
land  ended  in  a  pebbly  beach,  on  which  should  lie  a 
great  drift  of  sea- weed  after  every  southeaster.  The 
wood  was  a  stately  grove  of  oaks,  taking  the  brunt 
of  the  northwesters  that  roared  around  the  house  in 
autumn,  and  making  grateful  lee  for  the  pigeons 
that  dashed  in  and  about  the  gables  of  the  barn. 
The  brook  seemed  here  a  mere  creek,  which  at  high 
water  should  be  flooded  even  with  the  banks  of  sedge; 
and  when  the  tide  was  out,  showing  half  a  dozen 
gushing  springs  which  plied  their  work  jauntily  till 
the  ebb  came,  and  then,  after  coquetting  and  toying 
with  their  lover,  the  sea  —  were  lost  in  his  embrace. 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  ^ 

Only  a  fancy  !    If  there  be  such  a  lookout 

from  farm  windows,  the  ships  come  and  go  without 
my  knowledge ;  and  the  springs  gush,  and  die  in 
the  flow  of  the  tide,  unknown  to  me. 

Again,  it  seemed  that  answer  would  come  from 
some  remote  valley  side,  away  from  the  great  high- 
ways of  travel,  where  neither  sail  nor  steamer  ob- 
truded on  the  eye ;  —  where  indeed  a  sight  of  the  sea 
only  came  to  one  who  climbed  the  tallest  of  the  hills- 
which  sheltered  the  valley.  Half  down  the  hills  an 
old  farm  house,  with  mossy  porch,  seemed  to  rest 
upon  a  shelf  of  the  land.  A  cackling,  self-satisfied, 
eager  brood  of  fowls  were  in  a  party-colored  cloud 
about  the  big  barn  doors  ;  a  burly  mastiff  loitered  in 
the  sun  by  the  house-steps  ;  mild-eyed  cows  were 
feeding  beyond  the  pasture  gate  ;  a  brook  that  was 
half  a  river,  came  sweeping  down  the  meadows  in 
full  sight  —  curving  and  turning  upon  itself,  and 
fretting  over  bits  of  stony  bottom,  and  loitering  in 
deep  places  under  alluvial  banks,  where  I  knew  trout 
must  lie  —  then  losing  itself,  upon  the  rim  of  the 
farm,  in  tangled  swamp  lands,  where,  in  autumn,  I 
knew,  if  the  farm  should  be  mine,  I  could  see  the 
maples  all  turned  into  feathery  plumes  of  crimson. 
But  I  did  not ;  plumes  of  crimson  I  see  indeed  each 
autumn,  but  they  are  at  my  door  ;  and  a  great  reach 
of  water  —  on  which  ships  tack,  and  tack  again  — 


8  MY  FARM. 

comes  streaming  to  my  eye  as  I  sit  quietly  in  my 
chair. 

It  was  not  from  mere  caprice  that  my  advertise- 
ment had  been  worded  as  it  was.  For  the  mere  es- 
tablishment of  a  country  home,  one  hundred  acres 
might  seem  an  unnecessarily  large  number,  as  in- 
deed it  is.  But  I  must  confess  to  having  felt  an 
anxiety  to  test  the  question,  as  to  whether  a  country 
liver  was  really  made  the  poorer  by  all  the  acres  he 
possessed  beyond  the  one  or  two  immediately  about 
his  homestead.  Indeed  I  may  say  that  I  felt  a  some- 
what enthusiastic  curiosity  to  know,  and  to  deter- 
mine by  actual  experiment,  if  farm  lands  were 
simply  a  cost  and  an  annoyance  to  any  one  who 
would  not  wholly  forswear  books,  enter  the  mud 
trenches  valorously,  and  take  the  pig  by  the  ears, 
with  his  own  hands. 

A  half  dozen  acres,  which  a  man  looks  after  in  the 
intervals  of  other  business,  and  sets  thick  with  his 
fancies,  in  the  shape  of  orchard  houses,  or  dwarf 
pear  trees,  or  glazed  graperies,  offer  no  solution.  All 
this  is,  in  most  instances,  only  the  expression  of  an 
individualism  of  taste,  entered  upon  with  no  thought 
of  those  economies  which  Xenophon  has  illustrated 
in  his  treatise,  and  worse  than  useless  as  a  guide  to 
any  one  who  would  make  a  profession  of  agricultu- 
ral pursuits. 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  9 

With  fifty  or  a  hundred  acres,  however,  steaming 
under  the  plough,  and  with  crops  opening  succes- 
sively into  waving  fields  of  green — into  featheiy 
blossom,  —  into  full  maturity  ;  too  large  for  waste  ; 
too  considerable  for  home  consumption  ;  enough,  in 
short,  to  be  brought  to  that  last  test  of  profit  —  a 
market,  and  a  price  ;  then  the  culture  and  its  costs 
have  a  plain  story  to  tell.  The  basis  will  not  be 
wanting  for  an  intelligent  decision  of  the  question 
—  whether  a  man  is  richer  in  the  cultivation  of  a 
hundred  acres,  or  of  ten ;  whether,  in  short,  farm- 
ing is  a  mere  gross  employment,  remunerative,  like 
other  manual  trades,  to  those  immediately  con- 
cerned ;  or  whether  it  is  a  pursuit  subject  to  the 
rules  of  an  intelligent  direction,  and  will  pay  the 
cost  of  such  direction,  without  everyday  occupancy 
of  the  field. 

My  advertisement  named  three  hours'  distance 
from  the  city,  as  one  not  to  be  exceeded.  Three 
hours  in  our  time  means  eighty  miles  ;  beyond  that 
distance  from  a  great  city,  one  may  be  out  of  the  ed- 
dies of  its  influence  ;  within  it,  if  upon  the  line  of 
some  important  railway,  he  is  fairly  in  a  suburb. 
Three  hours  to  come,  and  three  to  go,  if  the  necessity 
arise,  leave  four  hours  of  the  pith  of  the  day,  and  of 
its  best  sunshine,  for  the  usurers  of  the  town. 
Double  four  hours  of  distance,  and  you  have  a  jour- 


io  MY  FARM. 

ney  that  is  exhausting  and  fatiguing ;  double  two 
hours,  or  less,  and  you  have  an  ease  of  transit  that 
leads  into  temptation.  If  a  man  then  honestly  de- 
termines to  be  a  country  liver,  I  hardly  know  a  hap- 
pier mean  of  distance  than  three  hours  from  the  city. 
If,  indeed,  he  enters  upon  that  ambiguous  mode  of 
life  which  is  neither  city  nor  country,  which  knows 
of  gardens  only  in  the  night  time,  and  takes  all  its 
sunshine  from  the*  pavements,  which  flits  between 
the  two  without  tasting  the  full  zest  of  either —  of 
course,  for  this  mode  of  life,  three  hours  is  too  great 
a  distance.  The  man  who  is  content  to  live  in 
grooves  on  which  he  is  shot  back  and  forth  year  after 
year —  the  merest  shuttle  of  a  commuter  —  will  natu- 
rally be  anxious  to  make  the  grooves  short,  and  the 
commutation  small. 

I  bespoke  in  my  advertisement  no  less  than  twenty 
acres  of  woodland.  The  days  of  wood  fires  are  not 
utterly  gone ;  as  long  as  I  live,  they  never  will  be 
gone.  Coal  indeed  may  have  its  uses  in  the  furnace 
which  takes  off  the  sharp  edge  of  winter  from  the 
whole  interior  of  the  house,  and  keeps  up  a  night 
and  day  struggle  with  Boreas  for  the  mastery.  Coal 
may  belong  in  the  kitchens  of  winter  ;  I  do  not  say 
nay  to  this  :  but  I  do  say  that  a  country  home  with- 
out some  one  open  chimney,  around  which  in  time 
of  winter  twilight,  when  snows  are  beating  against 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  u 

the  panes,  the  family  may  gather,  and  watch  the  fire 
flashing  and  crackling  and  flaming  and  waving,  until 
the  girls  clap  their  hands,  and  the  boys  shout,  in  a 
kind  of  exultant  thankfulness,  is  not  worthy  the 
name. 

And  if  such  a  fiery  thanksgiving  is  to  crackle  out 
its  praises — why  not  from  a  man's  own  ground? 
There  is  no  farmer  but  feels  a  commendable  pride 
in  feeding  his  own  grain,  in  luxuriating  upon  his 
own  poultry,  in  consuming  his  own  hay  —  why  not 
burn  wood  of  his  own  growing  ?  It  is  not  an  extrav- 
agant crop.  Thirty  years  on  rocky,  wild  land,  else 
unserviceable,  will  mature  a  good  fire-crop ;  and  if 
there  be  chestnut  growth,  will  ensure  sufficient  size 
for  farm  repairs  and  fencing  material.  A  half  acre 
of  average  growth  will  supply  at  least  one  roaring 
winter's  fire,  beside  the  chestnut  for  farm  purposes. 
And  thus  with  twenty  acres  of  wood,  cut  over  each 
year,  half  acre  by  half  acre,  I  have  forty  years  for 
harvesting  my  crop  ;  and  then,  the  point  where  I 
entered  upon  my  wood  field  is  more  than  ready  for 
the  axe  again.  Indeed,  considering  that  thirty  years 
are  ample  for  the  growth  of  good-sized  fire  wood,  I 
have  a  margin  of  ten  years'  extra  growth,  which  may 
go  to  pin  money ;  or  may  be  credited  to  some  few 
favorite  timber  trees  that  stand  upon  the  edge  of  the 
pasture,  and  pay  rental  in  the  picture  they  give  of 


12  MY  FARM. 

patriarchal  grace  —  to  say  nothing  of  an  annual  har- 
vest of  chestnuts. 

"Woodland,  again,  gives  dignity  to  a  country  place  ; 
it  shows  a  crop  that  wants  a  man's  age  to  ripen  it ;  a 
company  of  hoary  elders  —  conservatives,  if  you  will 
—  to  preside  amid  the  lesser  harvests,  and  to  parry 
the  rage  of  tempesta  Mosses  plant  their  white 
blight,  as  gray  hairs  come  to  a  man  ;  but  the  core  is 
sound,  and  the  life  sap  swift,  and  in  it  are  the  juices 
of  a  thousand  leaves. 

A  wood,  too,  for  a  contemplative  mind  is  always 
suggestive.  Its  aisles  swarm  with  memories ;  the 
sighing  of  the  boughs  in  the  wind  brings  a  tender 
murmur  from  the  farthest  days  of  childhood,  when 
leaves  rustled  all  the  long  summer  at  the  nurse's 
window.  Bird-nesting  boyhood  comes  again  to  sit 
astride  the  limbs  —  to  hunt  for  slippery  elm,  or  the 
fragrant  leaves  of  young  wintergreen,  or  the  aro- 
matic roots  of  sassafras. 

This  scarred  bole,  so  straight  and  true,  reminds 
of  still  larger  ones  in  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau  ; 
the  chestnuts  recall  the  broad-leaved  ones  of  the 
Apennines  ;  the  hemlocks  bring  to  memory  the  kin- 
dred sapin  of  the  Juras,  under  whose  shade  I  sat 
upon  an  August  day,  years  ago,  panting  with  the 
heat,  and  looking  off  upon  the  yellow  plains  which 
stretch  beyond  the  old  French  town  of  Poligny,  and 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  13 

upon  the  shadows  of  clouds,  that  flitted  over  the 
far  and  "  golden -sided  "  Burgundy. 

Next,  the  coveted  place  was  to  have  its  quota  of 
running  water.  It  would  be  a  very  absurd  thing  to 
go  far  to  find  reasons  for  the  love  of  a  brook.  There 
are  practical  ones  of  which  every  farmer  knows  the 
force  ;  and  of  which  every  farmer's  boy,  who  has 
ever  driven  a  cow  to  water,  or  wet  a  line  in  the 
eddies,  could  be  exponent. 

And  in  the  romantic  aspect  of  the  matter,  I  believe 
there  is  nothing  in  nature  which  so  enlaces  one's 
love  for  the  country,  and  binds  it  with  willing  fet- 
ters, as  the  silver  meshes  of  a  brook.  Not  for  its 
beauty  only,  but  for  its  changes  ;  it  is  the  warbler  ; 
it  is  the  silent  muser  ;  it  is  the  loiterer ;  it  is  the 
noisy  brawler,  and  like  all  brawlers  beats  itself  into 
angry  foam,  and  turns  in  the  eddies  demurely  pen- 
itent, and  runs  away  to  sulk  under  the  bush.  A 
brook,  too,  piques  terribly  a  man's  audacity,  if  he 
have  any  eye  for  landscape  gardening.  It  seems  so 
'manageable,  in  all  its  wildness.  Here  in  the  glen  a 
bit  of  dam  will  give  a  white  gush  of  waterfall,  and  a 
pouring  sluice  to  some  overshot  wheel ;  and  the 
wheel  shall  have  its  connecting  shaft  and  whirl  of 
labors.  Of  course  there  shall  be  a  little  scape- way 
for  the  trout  to  pass  up  and  down  ;  a  rustic  bridge 
shall  spring  across  somewhere  below,  and  the  stream 


14  MY  FARM. 

shall  be  coaxed  into  loitering  where  you  will  —  under 
the  roots  of  a  beech  that  leans  over  the  water  —  into 
a  broad  pool  of  the  pasture  close,  where  the  cattle 
may  cool  themselves  in  August  In  short,  it  is  easy 
to  see  how  a  brook  may  be  held  in  leash,  and  made 
to  play  the  wanton  for  you,  summer  after  summer. 
I  do  not  forget  that  poor  Shenstone  ruined  himself 
by  his  coquetries  with  the  trees  and  brooks  at  Lea- 
sowea  I  commend  the  story  of  the  bankrupt  poet 
to  those  who  are  about  laying  out  country  places. 

Meantime  our  eye  shall  run  where  the  brooks  are 
running  —  to  the  sea.  It  must  be  admitted  that  a 
sea  view  gives  the  final  and  the  kingly  grace  to  a 
country  home.  A  lake  view  and  a  river  view  are 
well  in  their  way,  but  the  bills  hem  them  ;  the  great 
reach  which  is  a  type,  and,  as  it  were,  a  vision  of  the 
future,  does  not  belong  to  them.  There  is  none  of 
that  joyous  strain  to  the  eye  in  looking  on  them 
which  a  sea  view  provokes.  The  ocean  seems  to 
absorb  all  narrowness,  and  tides  it  away,  and  dashes 
it  into  yeasty  multiple  of  its  own  illimitable  width, 
A  man  may  be  small  by  birth,  but  he  cannot  grow 
smaller  with  the  sea  always  in  his  eye. 

It  is  a  bond  with  other  worlds  and  people  :  the 
sail  you  watch  has  come  from  Biscay  ;  yesterday  it 
was  white  for  the  eye  of  a  Biscayan  ;  your  sympa- 
thies touch  by  the  glitter  of  a  sail. 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  15 

The  raft  of  smoke  drifting  from  some  steamer  in 
the  offing  is  as  humanizing,  though  it  be  ten  miles 
away,  as  the  rattle  of  your  neighbor's  wagon  by  the 
door. 

You  live  near  a  highroad  to  take  off  the  edge 
from  loneliness  and  isolation ;  but  a  travelled  sea, 
where  all  day  long  white  specks  come  and  go,  is  the 
highway  of  the  world  ;  and  though  you  do  not  see 
these  neighbors'  faces,  or  catch  their  words,  the 
drifted  vapor,  and  the  sheen  of  the  sails,  and  the 
streaming  pennants  yield  a  sense  of  nearness  and 
companionship  that  gives  rein  and  verge  to  a  man's 
humanity. 

Then,  physically,  —  what  reach !  Heaven  and 
earth  touch  their  great  circles  in  your  eye  ;  the  touch 
that  bounds  human  vision  wherever  you  may  go.  No 
height  can  lift  you  to  a  grander  touch,  or  alter  one 
iota  its  magnificent  proportions.  With  a  land  hori- 
zon, it  may  be  an  occasional  hill  that  conceals  the 
outmost  bound,  —  a  temple  or  a  tree  ;  it  is  various 
and  uncertain  ;  even  upon  the  prairie  a  harvest  of 
flowers  may  fringe  it  with  an  edge  that  the  autumn 
fires  consume,  or  which  a  trampling  herd  may  beat 
down  ;  but  where  sea  touches  sky,  there,  forever,  is 
the  line  immutable,  which  runs  between  our  home 
and  the  spacious  heaven,  that  buoys,  and  bears  us. 
And  thence,  with  every  noontide,  the  sun  pours  a 


1 6  MY  FARM. 

fiery  profusion  of  gold  up  to  your  feet ;  and  there, 
every  full  moon  paves  a  broad  path  with  silver. 

So,  with  each  of  the  features  I  have  claimed,  come 
kingly  pictures  ;  —  not  least  of  all  to  the  gentle  slope 
south  or  eastward,  which  should  catch  the  first 
beams  of  the  morning,  and  the  first  warmth  of  every 
recurring  spring. 

In  a  mere  economic  point  of  view,  such  slope  is 
commended  in  every  northern  latitude  by  the  best 
of  agricultural  reasons.  In  all  temperate  zones  two 
hours  of  morning  are  worth  three  of  the  afternoon. 
I  do  not  know  an  old  author  upon  husbandry  who 
does  not  amrm  my  choice,  with  respect  to  all  tem- 
perate regions.  If  this  be  true  of  European  coun- 
tries, it  must  be  doubly  true  of  America,  where  the 
most  trying  winds  for  fruits,  or  for  frail  tempers, 
drive  from  the  northwest 

And  with  the  slope,  as  with  the  wood  and  with 
the  sea,  come  visions  ;  —  visions  of  sloping  shores  of 
bays,  into  whose  waters  the  land  dips  with  every 
recurring  tide  ;  and  where,  as  the  gentlest  of  tides 
fall  (so  upon  the  Adriatic  coast),  an  empurpled  line 
of  fine  sea  mosses  lies  crimped  upon  white  sand,  and 
pearly  shells  glitter  in  the  sun.  Or  —  of  lake  shores, 
gentle  as  Idyls  (so  of  Windermere),  with  grassy 
slopes  so  near  and  neighborly  to  the  water,  that  the 
mower,  as  he  clips  the  last  sentinels  in  green,  sweeps 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING,  17 

his  blade  with  a  bubbling  swirl  of  sound,  quite  into 
the  margin  of  the  lake. 

Southern  slopes,  again,  suggest  luscious  ripeness. 
The  first  figs  I  ever  gathered,  were  gathered  on  such 
a  slope  in  a  dreamy  atmosphere  of  Southern  France, 
with  the  blue  of  the  Mediterranean  in  reach  of  the 
eye,  and  the  sweetest  roses  of  Provence  lending  a 
balmy  fragrance  to  the  air. 

Sheltered  slopes  recall  too,  always,  what  is  most 
captivating  in  rural  life.  You  never  see  them  or  look 
for  them  even,  in  Dutch-land  —  in  Poland,  never; 
in  Prussia,  or  on  the  highways  of  travel  in  France, 
never.  And  few  rural  poems,  or  pictures  that  haunt 
the  memory,  were  ever  rhymed  or  sketched  in  those 
regions.  Theocritus  lived  where  lie  the  sweetest  of 
valleys  ;  Tibullus  and  Horace  both  knew  the  purple 
shadows  that  lay  in  the  clefts  of  the  Latian  hills. 
Delille  chased  his  rural  phantoms  beyond  the  Bur- 
gundian  mountains,  before  they  had  taken  their  best 
form. 

But  in  the  English  Isle  —  by  Abergavenny,  by 
Merthyr,  under  the  Tors  of  Derbyshire,  in  the  lea  of 
the  Dartmoor  hills,  —  abreast  of  Snowdon  —  what 
sheltered  greenness  and  bloom  !  What  nestling 
homesteads ! 

I  must  not  forget  to  give  a  sequence  to  my  story. 


1 8  MY  FARM. 

I  had  entered  my  advertisement.  Was  it  possible 
that  any  one  in  the  possession  of  such  a  place  as  I 
had  roughly  indicated,  would  be  willing  to  sell  ? 

For  twenty-four  hours  I  was  in  a  state  of  doubt ; 
after  that  time,  I  may  say  the  doubt  was  removed. 
I  must  frankly  confess  that  I  was  astounded  to  find 
what  a  number  of  persons,  counting  not  by  tens,  but 
by  fifties,  and  even  hundreds,  were  anxious  to  dis- 
pose of  a  "  situation  in  the  country "  which  fully 
corresponded  to  my  wishes  (as  advertised). 

Were  the  people  mad,  that  they  showed  such 
eagerness  to  divest  themselves  of  charming  places  ? 
Or  were  my  fine  pictures  possibly  overdrawn.  And 
yet,  who  could  gainsay  them  ;  are  not  trees,  trees  — 
and  brooks,  brooks  —  and  the  sea,  always  itself? 

I  think  my  New  York  friend,  to  whom  I  had  or- 
dered all  replies  to  be  addressed,  may  have  handed 
me  a  peck  of  letters  ;  —  blue  letters,  square  letters, 
triangular  letters,  pink  letters  (in  female  hand),  and 
soberly  brown  letters. 

Not  a  few  of  the  propositions  contained  in  these 
letters  were,  at  first  sight,  plainly  inadmissible  ;  as 
where  a  sanguine  gentleman  suggested  that  I  should 
make  a  slight  change  of  programme,  so  far  as  to 
plant  myself  on  the  shores  of  the  Great  Lakes,  or  in 
a  pretty  retiracy,  among  the  fine  forests  along  the 
Erie  Railroad. 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  19 

Another,  "  in  case  I  found  nothing  to  suit  else- 
where," could  recommend  "a  small  place  of  ten 
acres,  in  a  thriving  country  town,  two  minutes'  walk 
from  the  post-office,  house  forty  by  thirty-five,  and 
ten  feet  between  joints,  stages  passing  the  door  three 
times  a  day,  large  apple  trees  in  the  yard  newly 
grafted,  and  the  good  will  of  a  small  grocery,  upon 
the  corner,  to  be  sold,  if  desired,  with  the  goods,  and 
healthy." 

Inadmissible,  of  course  ;  and  the  letter  passed  over 
into  the  hat  of  my  friend.  Another  letter,  from  a 
widow  lady,  invited  attention  to  the  admired  place 
of  her  late  husband  :  he  had  "an  unusual  taste  for 
country  life,  and  had  expended  large  sums  in  beauti- 
fying the  farm ;  marble  mantels  throughout  the 
house,  Gothic  porticos,  and  some  statuary  about  the 
grounds.  There  was  a  gardener's  cottage,  and  a 
farmer's  house,  as  well  as  another  small  tenement 
for  an  under-gardener,  and  twenty  acres  of  land  of 
which  six  in  shrubbery  and  lawns."  The  architec- 
ture seemed  to  me  rather  disproportionate  to  the 
land ;  inadmissible  upon  the  whole,  as  a  desirable 
place  on  which  to  test  the  economies  of  a  quiet 
farm-life. 

I  can  conceive  of  nothing  so  shocking  to  a  hearty 
lover  of  the  country,  as  to  live  in  the  glare  of  another 
man's  architectural  taste.  In  the  city  or  the  town 


20  MY  FARM. 

there  are  conventional  laws  of  building,  established 
by  custom,  and  by  limitations  of  space,  to  which  all 
must  in  a  large  measure  conform  ;  but  with  the 
width  of  broad  acres  around  one,  I  should  chafe  as 
much  at  living  in  the  pretentious  house  of  another 
man's  ordering  and  building,  as  I  should  chafe  at 
living  in  another  man's  coat.  Country  architecture, 
whose  simplicity  or  rudeness  is  so  far  subordinated 
to  the  main  features  of  the  landscape  as  not  to  pro- 
voke special  mention,  may  be  of  any  man's  building ; 
but  wherever  the  house  becomes  the  salient  feature 
of  the  place,  and  challenges  criticism  by  an  engross- 
ing importance  as  compared  with  its  rural  surround- 
ings, then  it  must  be  in  agreement  with  the  tastes 
and  character  of  the  occupant,  or  it  is  a  pretentious 
falsehood. 

Perhaps  I  ought  to  beg  the  reader's  pardon  for 
this  interpolation  here,  of  a  law  of  adjustment  in  re- 
spect to  the  country  and  country  houses,  which 
would  have  more  perfect  place  in  what  I  may  have 
to  say  upon  the  general  subject  of  rural  architecture. 

At  present  I  return  to  my  stock  of  pleasant  advi- 
sory letters : 

A  tasteful  gentleman,  of  active  habits,  calls  my 
attention  to  a  park  of  which  he  is  the  projector,  and 
within  which  several  desirable  places,  with  admirable 
views,  remain  unsold  ;  while  land  in  the  neighbor- 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  21 

hood  might  be  secured  at  a  reasonable  valuation,  for 
such  farm  experiments  as  I  might  be  tempted  to 
enter  upon.  Attention  is  particularly  called  to  the 
social  advantages  of  such  a  neighborhood,  where 
none  but  gentlemen  of  character  would  be  permitted 
to  purchase,  and  where  the  refinements  of  city  inter- 
course would  be,  &c.,  &c. 

Now  it  so  happens  that  I  never  heard  of  a  park 
upon  this  mutual  method,  where  there  did  not  arise 
within  a  few  years  a  smart  quarrel  between  two  or 
more  of  the  refined  occupants.  The  cows,  or  the 
goats,  or  the  adjustment  of  water  privileges,  are  sure 
to  form  the  bases  of  noisy  differences,  in  the  man- 
agement of  which,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  the  amenities 
of  the  town  are  not  greatly  superior  to  the  amenities 
of  the  country.  Aside  from  this  danger,  I  have  not 
much  faith  in  the  marketable  coherence  of  those 
rural  tastes  which  would  belong  to  a  promiscuous 
circle  of  buyers.  A  community  of  cooks,  or  of  coal- 
heavers,  I  can  conceive  of,  but  a  community  of  rural- 
ists,  or  of  amateur  farmers,  quite  passes  my  compre- 
hension. I  say  amateur  farming,  for  I  know  of  no 
farming  which  is  so  amatory  in  the  beginning,  and 
so  damnatory  in  the  end,  as  that  which  delights  in 
a  suburban  house,  and  in  a  sufficient  quantity  of 
ground  a  few  miles  away,  where,  under  the  wary 
eye  of  some  sagacious  Dutchman  or  Irishman,  the 


23  MY  FARM. 

cows  are  to  be  fed,  the  weeds  pulled,  the  chickens 
plucked,  and  the  new  industry  and  profit  developed 
generally.  It  is  very  much  as  if  a  man  were  to  enter 
upon  the  business  of  whaling  by  taking  rooms  at  the 
Pequod  House,  and  negotiating  with  some  enter- 
prising skipper  to  tow  a  few  tame  whales  into  har- 
bor, to  be  slashed  up,  and  tried,  and  put  into  clean 
casks,  on  some  mild  afternoon  of  June. 

In  the  latter  case,  we  should  probably  have  the 
oil  and  the  bone  ;  and  in  the  other,  we  should  per- 
haps have  the  butter  and  the  eggs  ;  in  both,  we  cer- 
tainly should  have  the  bills  to  pay. 

If  a  man  would  enter  upon  country  life  in  earnest, 
and  test  thoroughly  its  aptitudes  and  royalties,  he 
must  not  toy  with  it  at  a  town  distance ;  he  must 
brush  the  dews  away  with  his  own  feet  He  must 
bring  the  front  of  his  head  to  the  business,  and  not 
the  back  side  of  it ;  or,  as  Cato  put  the  same  matter 
to  the  Romans,  near  two  thousand  years  ago,  Frons 
occipitio  prior  eat. 

But  while  I  was  thus  compelled  to  discard  certain 
propositions  at  their  first  suggestion,  there  were 
others  which  wore  such  a  roseate  hue  as  challenged 
scrutiny  and  compelled  a  visit.  Thus,  a  very  straight- 
forward and  business-like  letter  from  a  Wall-street 
agent  informed  me  that  his  esteemed  client,  Mr.  Van 
Heine,  "was  willing  to  dispose  of  a  considerable 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  23 

country  property  thirty  miles  from  the  city,  in  a 
favorable  location.  The  house  was  not  large  or  ex- 
pensive, possibly  not  extensive  enough  ;  there  was 
old  wood  upon  the  place,  the  surface  charmingly 
diversified,  and  in  addition  to  other  requisites,  it 
possessed  a  mill  site,  mill,  and  small  body  of  water, 
which,  in  the  hands  of  taste,  he  had  no  doubt,  "&c.,  &c. 

The  agent  regretted  that  he  could  give  me  no 
definite  information  in  regard  to  the  exact  size  of 
the  property,  or  terms  of  sale,  but  begged  me  to 
pay  a  visit  to  the  place  before  deciding. 

The  description,  though  not  particularly  definite, 
was  yet  sufficiently  piquant  and  suggestive  to  induce 
me  to  comply  with  the  hint  of  the  agent.  I  liked 
the  man's  nomenclature  —  "a  considerable  country 
property ; "  it  conveyed  an  impression  of  dignified 
quiet  and  retirement.  The  dwelling  was  probably  a 
modest  farmhouse,  grown  mossy  under  the  shade  of 
the  old  wood  ;  possibly  some  Dutch  affair  of  stone, 
with  Van  Heine  gables,  which  it  would  be  hardly 
decorous  to  pull  down.  I  might  add  a  little  to  its 
size,  and  so  make  it  habitable  ;  or,  if  well  placed,  it 
might  —  who  knew  —  be  turned  into  a  cottage  for 
the  miller.  There  remained,  after  all  this  agreeable 
coloring,  the  small  body  of  water  and  the  diversified 
surface,  which  were  enough  in  themselves  to  form 
the  outlines  of  a  very  captivating  picture. 


24  MY  FARM. 

I  determined  to  pay  Mr.  Van  Heine  a  visit.  Ob- 
taining all  needed  information  from  his  agent,  in  re- 
gard to  the  locality  and  its  approaches  from  the 
city,  I  set  off  upon  a  charming  morning  of  June  by 
one  of  the  northern  railways,  and  after  an  hour's 
ride,  was  put  down  at  a  station  some  five  miles  dis- 
tant from  the  property.  I  drove  across  the  country 
at  a  leisurely  pace,  stopping  here  and  there  upon  a 
hilltop  to  admire  the  far-off  views,  and  speculating 
upon  possible  improvements  that  might  be  made  in 
the  badly  conditioned  road.  The  neighborhood  was 
not  populous  :  indeed,  it  was  only  after  having  meas- 
ured, as  I  fancied,  the  fifth  mile,  that  I  for  the  first 
time  saw  a  party  from  whom  I  might  ask  special 
directions.  I  may  describe  this  party  as  a  tall  man 
in  red  beard  and  red  fur  cap,  with  a  black-stemmed 
porcelain  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  trowsers  thrust  into 
stout  cowhide  boots.  He  was  striding  forward  in  the 
same  direction  with  me,  and  at  nearly  an  equal  pace. 

"Did  he  possibly  know  of  a  Mr.  Van  Heine  in 
this  region  ?  " 

"  Yah  —  yah,"  and  the  man,  who  may  have  been  an 
emigrant  of  only  four  or  five  years  of  American  na- 
tionality, pointed  toward  himself  with  a  pleased  and 
grim  complacency. 

"  This  was  Mr.  Van  Heine,  then,  who  has  a  coun- 
try property  to  sell  V  " 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING,  2$ 

"Yah  —  yah,"  and  his  smile  has  now  grown  eager 
and  familiar. 

His  place  is  a  little  farther  on  ;  and  I  ask  him  to  a 
seat  beside  me. 

"  It  is  a  farm  he  has  to  sell  ?  " 

"  Yah  —  yah,  farm." 

I  ask  if  the  view  is  good. 

"Yah  — good  — yah." 

I  venture  a  question  in  regard  to  the  mill. 

"Yah  — mill  — yah." 

"  Grist  mill  ?  "  I  ask. 

"Yah  —  mill." 

"  For  sawing  ?  "  I  add,  thinking  possibly  he  might 
misunderstand  me. 

"  Yah  —  sawing.' 

I  venture  to  inquire  after  his  crops. 

"Crops  —  yah." 

The  conversation  was  not  satisfactory :  we  were 
driving  along  a  dusty  highway,  and  had  entered 
upon  a  sombre  valley,  where  there  was  no  sign  of 
cultivation,  and  where  the  only  dwelling  to  be  seen, 
was  one  of  those  excessively  new  houses  of  matched 
boards,  perched  immediately  upon  the  side  of  the 
high-road,  and  with  its  pert  and  rectangular  "join- 
ery "  offending  every  rural  sentiment  that  might 
have  grown  out  of  the  blithe  atmosphere  and  the 
morning  drive. 


26  MY  FARM. 

"Dish  is  de  place,"  said  my  friend  of  the  red 
beard  and  porcelain  pipe  ;  and  I  could  not  doubt  it ; 
there  was  a  poetic  agreement  between  man  and 
house  ;  but  the  mill  remained — where  was  the  mill  ? 

Van  Heine  was  only  too  happy :  across  the  way  — 
only  at  a  distance  of  a  few  rods,  not  removed  from 
the  dust  of  the  high-road,  was  the  mill,  and  the 
"body  of  water."  The  new  scars  in  the  hillsides, 
from  which  the  earth  had  been  taken  to  dam  the 
brook,  were  odiously  apparent :  but  the  investment 
had  clearly  not  proven  a  profitable  one  :  the  capacity 
of  the  brook  had  been  measured  at  its  winter  stage  ; 
even  now,  the  millpond  at  its  upper  end  showed  a 
broad,  slimy  flat,  which  was  alive  with  frogs  and 
mudpouts.  A  few  scattered  clumps  of  dead  and 
seared  alders  broke  the  level,  and  a  dozen  or  more 
of  tall  and  limbless  trees  that  had  been  drowned  by 
the  new  lake,  rose  stragglingly  from  the  water  — 
making,  with  the  dead  bushes,  and  the  loneliness  of 
the  place,  a  skeleton  and  ghostly  assemblage. 

Mr.  Van  Heine  had  newly  filled  his  pipe,  and  was 
puffing  amiably,  as  I  stood  looking  at  the  property, 
and  at  the  sandy  hills  which  rolled  up  from  the  fur- 
ther side  of  the  pond,  tufted  with  here  and  there  a 
spreading  juniper.  The  whole  aspect  of  the  prop- 
erty was  so  curiously  and  amazingly  repugnant  to 
all  the  rural  fancies  I  had  ever  entertained,  whether 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING,  27 

Aesthetic,  or  purely  agricultural,  that  I  was  ex- 
cessively interested.  My  red-bearded  entertainer 
clearly  saw  as  much,  and  with  violent  and  persuasive 
puffs  at  his  porcelain  pipe,  and  occasional  iterative 
"  dams  "  in  his  talk  (which  had  very  likely  sprung  of 
unpleasant  familiarity  with  the  dam  actual)  he  be- 
came explosively  demonstrative  and  earnest. 

I  hinted  at  the  shortness  of  the  water  ;  there  was 
no  denial  on  his  part ;  on  the  contrary,  frank  avowal. 

"Yah  —  dam  —  short,"  said  he;  "  dat  ish  — 
enough  for  der  farm  —  yah  ;  but  for  der  mill  —  dam 
—  nichts  "  (puff). 

I  spoke  in  an  apologetic  way  of  the  advertisement, 
and  of  certain  requisites  insisted  upon  ;  he  had  per- 
haps seen  it  ? 

"  Advertisement  —  yah  (puff)  —  yah." 

I  hinted  at  the  slope. 

"  Yah  —  der  slope." 

"  The  slope  to  the  south  ?  " 

"  Oh  yah  —  south  (puff)  —  yah." 

I  explained  by  a  little  interpolation  of  his  own 
tongue. 

"  Dam  —  yah  —  dish  ish  it ;  der  is  de  pond  ;  dish 
is  south  ;  dat  ish  der  slope  —  to  der  pond  —  dam  — 
yah." 

"  And  the  lands  opposite  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dat  ish  not  mine  ;  der  mill,  der  house,  der 


28  MY  FARM.  » 

pond,  der  land,  vat  you  call  der  slope  —  dis  isb 
mine." 

I  suggested  the  mention  of  a  water  view  in  the 
advertisement 

"View, "said  my  red-bearded  friend;  "vat  you 
call  view  ?  " 

I  explained  as  I  could,  teutonically. 

"  Dam  !  der  vater  view !  (with  emphasis) ;  dish  is 
it ;  der  pond,  ish  it  no  vater  ?  —  hein  !  —  dam  (puff)." 

Even  now  I  look  back  with  a  good  deal  of  self- 
applause  upon  my  success  in  extricating  myself  from 
the  merciless  and  magnetic  earnestness  of  the  red- 
bearded  Mr.  Van  Heine  ;  I  think  of  my  escape  from 
the  dusty  high-road,  the  angular  joinery  of  the 
house,  the  bloated  hills,  blotched  with  junipers,  the 
straggling  trunks  of  the  drowned  trees,  and  the  im- 
perturbable insistance  of  the  German,  with  his  ex- 
pletive dam  and  his  black-stemmed  porcelain  pipe 
as  I  think  of  escapes  from  some  threatening  pesti- 
lence. 

Another  country  place  was  brought  to  my  atten- 
tion, under  circumstances  that  forbade  any  doubt  of 
its  positive  attractions.  There  was  wood  in  abun- 
dance, dotted  here  and  there  with  a  profuse  and 
careless  luxuriance ;  there  were  rounded  banks  of 
hills,  and  meadows  through  which  an  ample  stream 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  29 

(?ame  flowing  with  a  queenly  sweep,  and  with  a  sheen 
that  caught  every  noontide,  and  repeated  it  in  a 
glorious  blazon  of  gold.  It  skirted  the  hills,  it 
skirted  the  wood,  and  came  with  a  gushing  fulness 
upon  the  very  margin  of  the  quiet  little  house-yard 
that  compassed  the  dwelling.  And  from  the  door, 
underneath  cherry  trees,  one  could  catch  glimpses 
of  the  great  stretch  of  the  Hudson  into  which  the 
brook  passed  ;  and  the  farther  shores  were  so  dis- 
tant, that  the  Hudson  looked  like  a  bay  of  the  sea. 
A  gaunt  American  who  was  in  charge  of  the  prem- 
ises did  the  honors  of  the  place,  and  in  the  intervals 
of  expressing  the  juices  from  a  huge  quid  of  tobacco 
that  lay  in  his  cheek,  he  enlarged  upon  the  qualities 
of  the  soil 

To  him  the  view  or  situation  was  nothing,  but  the 
capacity  for  corn  or  rye  was  the  main  "p'int." 

"  Ef  yer  want  a  farm,  Mister,  yer  want  sile  ;  now 
this  'ere  (turning  up  a  turf  with  a  back  thrust  of  his 
heel)  is  what  I  call  sile  ;  none  o'  yer  dum  leachy 
stuff ;  you  put  manure  into  this  'ere,  and  it  stays 
'put.'" 

"  Grows  good  crops,  then,"  I  threw  in,  by  way  of 
interlude. 

"  I  guess  it  dooz,  Mister.  Corn,  potatoes,  garden 
sass  —  why,  only  look  at  this  'ere  turf ;  see  them  clo- 
vers, and  this  blue  grass.  Ef  you  was  a  farmer  — 


30  MY  FARM. 

doan't  know  but  you  be,  but  doan'fc  look  jist  like  out) 
—  you'd  know  that  'tain't  every  farm  can  scare  up 
such  a  turf  as  that." 

"Very  true,"  I  remark  ;  while  my  lank  friend  ad- 
justs his  quid  for  a  new  bit  of  comment. 

"Now  here's  Simmons  on  the  hill  —  smart  man 
enough,  but  doan't  know  nothing  'bout  farmin' — 
them  hills  he's  bought  doan't  bear  nothin'  but 
pennyrial ;  ten  acres  on't  wouldn't  keep  a  good  cos- 
set sheep."  And  my  friend  expectorates  with  a  good 
deal  of  emphasis. 

I  suggested  that  many  came  into  the  country  for 
good  views  and  a  fine  situation. 

"  I  know  it,  sir,"  said  my  lank  friend  ;  "  this  's  a 
free  country,  and  a  man  can  do  as  he  likes,  leastwise 
we  used  to  think  so  ;  but  as  for  me,  give  me  a  good 
black  sile  'bout  seven  inches  thick,  and  good  turf  top 
on't,  and  a  good  smart  team,  and  I  take  out  my 
views,  along  in  the  fall  o'  the  year,  in  the  corn  crib. 
Them's  my  sentiments." 

I  think  I  won  upon  my  tall  friend  by  expressing 
my  approval  of  so  sound  opinions  ;  and  in  the  course 
of  talk,  we  found  ourselves  again  upon  the  dainty 
lawn  by  the  doorstep,  near  to  which  the  brook 
surged  along,  brimful  and  deep,  to  the  river.  Over- 
deep,  indeed,  it  seemed,  for  so  near  neighborhood  to 
the  house.  An  expression  of  mine  to  tin's  effect  was 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  31 

amply  confirmed  by  the  tall  farmer.  Only  a  year  or 
so  gone,  a  little  child  had  tumbled  in,  and  was 
"drownded." 

And  this  was  perhaps  the  reason  why  the  family 
left  so  attractive  a  place,  I  suggested. 

"Oh  Lord,  no,  sir  ;  'twas  a  pesky  little  thing,  be- 
longed down  to  the  landin'.  Fever-'nager  's  what 
driv  the  folks  off,  in  my  'pinion." 

"  Ah,  they  do  have  the  fever  about  here,  then  ?  " 

"  Gosh  —  Smithers  here  —  p'raps  you  doan't  know 
Smithers  —  no  ;  waal,  he's  got  it,  got  it  bad  ;  that's 
so  ;  and  what's  wus,  his  chil'en  s'got  it,  and  his 
wife  s'had  it ;  and  my  wife  here,  a  spell  ago,  what 
does  she  do,  but  up  and  takes  it,  s'bad  s'enny  on 
'em  ;  'ts  a  dum  curi's  keind  o'  thing.  You  doan't 
know  nothin'  when  'ts  comin' ;  and  you  doan't  know 
no  more  when  'ts  goin' ;  and  arter  'ts  dun,  'tain't  no 
small  shakes  of  a  thing  ;  a  feller  keeps  keinder  ailin'." 

Upon  a  sudden  the  place  took  on  a  new  aspect 
for  me  ;  its  cool  shade  seemed  the  murky  parent  of 
miasma  ;  the  wind  sighed  through  the  leaves  with  a 
sickly  sound,  and  the  brook,  that  gave  out  a  little 
while  before  a  roistering  cheerfulness  in  its  dash, 
now  surged  along  with  only  a  quick  succession  of 
sullen  plashes. 

I  must  recur  to  one  other  disappointment  in  re- 


32  MY  FARM. 

spect  of  a  country  place,  which  possessed  every  one 
of  the  features  I  had  desired  in  unmistakable  type  ; 
and  yet  all  these  so  curiously  distraught  that  they 
possessed  no  harmony  or  charm.  I  ought  perhaps  to 
except  the  sea  view,  which  was  wide  to  a  fault,  and 
so  near  that  on  turbulent  days  of  storm,  it  must  have 
created  the  illusion  that  you  were  fairly  afloat. 

A  sight  of  the  sea,  to  temper  a  fair  landscape,  and 
lend  it  ravishing  reach  to  a  far-off  line  of  glistening 
horizon,  is  a  very  different  thing  from  that  bold, 
broadside,  every-day  nearness,  which  outroars  all  the 
pleasant  land  sounds,  making  your  country  quietude 
a  mere  fiction,  and  the  broad  presence  of  ocean  the 
engrossing  reality.  So  it  was  with  the  place  of  which 
I  speak ;  beside  this,  the  slope  was  slight  and  gradual 
—  only  one  billowy  lift  —  as  if  the  land  had  some 
time  caught  the  undulations  of  the  sea  after  some 
heavy  ground  swell,  and  kept  the  uplift  after  the  sea 
had  settled  to  its  fair-weather  proportions.  The 
brook  was  of  an  unnoticeable  flow,  that  idled  from  a 
neighbor's  grounds  ;  and  the  wood,  such  as  it  was, 
only  a  spur  of  silver  poplars  that  had  stolen  through 
from  the  same  neighbor's  territory,  and  had  shot  up 
into  a  white  and  tangled  wildnerness. 

The  occupant  and  owner  of  the  place  —  of  may  be 
seventy  acres  —  was  one  of  those  wiry,  energetic, 
restless  young  men  of  New  England  stock,  thrifty, 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  33 

shrewd,  spurning  all  courtesies,  bound  to  push  on  in 
life  ;  a  type  of  that  nervous  unrest  by  which  God  has 
peopled  the  "West  and  California.  Never  gaining, 
but  always  despising,  the  calm  that  comes  of  satisfied 
endeavor,  whether  in  the  establishment  of  a  home,  or 
the  accumulation  of  money,  these  fast  ones  are  very 
confident  in  their  ability  withal,  and  in  their  judg- 
ment ;  making  light  of  difficulties,  full  of  contempt 
for  all  knowledge  which  has  not  shown  practical  and 
palpable  conquests.  The  owner  had  planted  his 
farm  to  vegetables  —  not  an  acre  of  it  but  bristled 
with  some  marketable  crop  ;  nearness  to  the  city  had 
warranted  it,  and  "there  was  money  in  the  business." 
To  talk  with  such  a  man  about  comparative  views,  or 
situations,  would  have  been  to  talk  French  with  him. 
An  unknown  advertiser  had  demanded  the  very  fea- 
tures embraced  in  his  farm  ;  there  they  were  —  the 
sea,  the  brook,  the  wood,  and  slope.  If  I  wished 
them  enough  to  pay  his  price,  I  could  have  them.  He 
felt  quite  sure  that  I  should  find  nothing  that  came 
nearer  the  mark,  and  he  argued  the  matter  with  a 
strenuous,  earnest  vehemence,  that  fairly  enchained 
my  attention  ;  and  while  my  admiring  aspect  seemed 
to  yield  assent  to  every  presentation  he  made  of  the 
subject,  and  while,  as  in  the  case  of  the  red-bearded 
German,  there  was  a  sort  of  magnetism  that  bound 
me  to  outer  acquiescence,  at  the  same  time  all  my 
3 


34  MY  FARM. 

inner  feeling  was  kindled  into  open  revolt  against 
the  man's  presumption,  and  his  turnips,  and  his 
lines  of  cabbages,  and  his  poplars,  and  near  breadth 
of  sea. 

He  did  not  sell  to  me  ;  but  I  have  no  doubt  that 
he  sold  ;  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  made  money  by 
his  turnips,  and  more  money  by  the  sale  of  his  land  ; 
and  it  would  not  surprise  me  to  see  him  some  day, 
if  I  go  in  that  direction,  speaker  of  the  house  of  rep- 
resentatives in  the  State  of  Iowa,  or  Minnesota. 
There  are  men  who  carry  in  their  presuming,  rest- 
less energy  the  brand  of  success  —  not  always  an 
enviable  one,  still  less  frequently  a  moral  one,  but 
always  palpable  and  noisy.  Such  a  man  makes  capi- 
tal fight  with  danger  of  all  sorts ;  he  knows  no  yield- 
ing to  fatigues  —  to  any  natural  obstacles,  or  to  con- 
science. It  is  hard  to  conceive  of  him  as  dying, 
without  a  sharp  and  nervous  protest,  which  seems 
conclusive  to  his  own  judgment,  against  the  absurd 
dispensations  of  Providence.  Who  does  not  see 
faces  every  day,  whose  eager,  impassioned  unrest  is 
utterly  irreconcilable  with  the  calm  long  sleep  we 
must  all  fall  to  at  last  ? 

But  this  story  of  unsuccessful  experiences  grows 
wearisome  to  me,  and,  I  doubt  not,  to  the  reader. 
One  after  another  the  hopes  I  had  built  upon  my 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  35 

hatful  of  responses,  failed  me.  June  was  bursting 
every  day  into  fuller  and  more  tempting  leafiness. 
The  stifling  corridors  of  city  hotels,  the  mouldy 
smell  of  country  taverns,  the  dependence  upon 
testy  Jehus,  who  plundered  and  piloted  me  through 
all  manner  of  out-of-the-way  places,  became  fatigu- 
ing beyond  measure. 

And  it  was  precisely  at  this  stage  of  my  inquiry, 
that  I  happened  accidentally  to  be  passing  a  day  at 
the  Tontine  inn,  of  the  charming  city  of  N — h — .  (I 
use  initials  only,  in  way  of  respectful  courtesy  for 
the  home  of  my  adoption.)  The  old  drowsy  quie- 
tude of  the  place  which  I  had  known  in  other  days, 
still  lingered  upon  the  broad  green,  while  the  mimic 
din  of  trade  rattled  down  the  tidy  streets,  or  gave 
tongue  in  the  shrill  whistle  of  an  engine.  The  col- 
lege still  seemed  dreaming  out  its  classic  beati- 
tudes, and  the  staring  rectangularity  of  its  enclos- 
ures and  buildings  and  paths  appeared  to  me  only  a 
proper  expression  of  its  old  geometric  and  educa- 
tional traditions. 

Most  people  know  this  town  of  which  I  speak, 
only  as  a  scudding  whirl  of  white  houses,  succeeded 
by  a  foul  sluiceway,  that  runs  along  the  reeking 
backs  of  shops,  and  ends  presently  in  gloom.  A 
stranger  might  consider  it  the  darkness  of  a  tunnel, 
if  he  did  not  perceive  that  the  railway  train  had 


36  MY  FARM. 

stopped  ;  and  presently  catch  faint  images  of  a  sooty 
stairway,  begrimed  with  smoke  —  up  and  down 
which  dim  figures  pass  to  and  fro,  and  from  the  foot 
of  which,  and  the  side  of  which,  and  all  around 
which,  a  score  of  belching  voices  break  out  in  a  pas- 
sionate chorus  of  shouts  ;  as  the  eye  gains  upon  the 
sootiness  and  gloom,  it  makes  out  the  wispy,  wavy 
lines  of  a  few  whips  moving  back  and  forth  amid  the 
uproar  of  voices  ;  it  lights  presently  upon  the  star 
of  a  policeman,  who  seems  altogether  in  his  element 
in  the  midst  of  the  hurly-burly.  Becloaked  and 
shawled  figures  enter  and  pass  through  the  car- 
riages ;  they  may  be  black,  or  white,  or  gray,  or  kins- 
folk —  you  see  nothing  but  becloaked  figures  pass- 
ing through  ;  portmanteaus  fall  with  a  slump,  and 
huge  dressing  cases  fall  with  a  slam,  upon  what  seems, 
by  the  ear,  to  be  pavement ;  luggage  trucks  keep  up 
an  uneasy  rattle  ;  brakemen  somewhere  in  still  lower 
depths  strike  dinning  blows  upon  the  wheels,  to  test 
their  soundness ;  newsboys,  moving  about  the  murky 
shades  like  piebald  imps,  lend  a  shrill  treble  to  the 
uproar  ;  the  policeman's  star  twinkles  somewhere  in 
the  foreground  ;  upon  the  begrimed  stairway,  figures 
flit  mysteriously  up  and  down  ;  there  is  the  shriek  of 
a  steam  whistle  somewhere  in  the  front ;  a  shock  to 
the  train  ;  a  new  deluge  of  smoke  rolls  back  and 
around  newsboys,  police,  cabmen,  stairway,  and  all ; 


THE  SEARCH   AND   FINDING.  37 

there  is  a  crazy  shout  of  some  official,  a  jerk,  a  dash 
—  figures  still  flitting  up  and  down  the  sooty  stair- 
way—  and  so,  a  progress  into  day  (which  seemed 
never  more  welcome).  Again  the  backs  of  shops, 
of  houses,  heaps  of  debris,  as  if  all  the  shop  people 
and  all  the  dwellers  in  all  the  houses  were  fed  only 
on  lobsters  and  other  shellfish  ;  a  widening  of  the 
sluice,  a  gradual  recovery  of  position  to  the  surface 
of  the  ground  —  in  time  to  see  a  few  tall  chimneys, 
a  great  hulk  of  rock,  with  something  glistening  on 
its  summit,  a  turbid  river  bordered  with  sedges,  a 
clump  of  coquettish  pine  trees  —  and  the  conductor 
tells  you  all  this  is  the  beautiful  city  of  N — h — .* 

A  friend  called  upon  me  shortly  after  my  arrival, 
and  learning  the  errand  upon  which  I  had  been 
scouring  no  inconsiderable  tract  of  country,  pro- 
posed to  me  to  linger  a  day  more,  and  take  a  drive 
about  the  suburbs.  I  willingly  complied  with  his 
invitation  ;  though  I  must  confess  that  my  idea  of 
the  suburbs,  colored  as  it  was  by  old  recollections  of 
college  walks  over  dead  stretches  of  level,  in  order 

*  It  is  perhaps  needless  to  say  that  the  lapse  of  twenty  years 
has  made  a  change  in  the  approaches  ;  and  the  traveller  is 
now  set  down  at  a  station  which  ia  flanked  on  one  side  by 
full  sweep  of  the  harbor  waters  and  which  should  (and  might) 
be  flanked  on  the  other,  by  a  City  Green,  with  its  trees  and 
fountain. 


38  MY  FARM. 

to  find  some  quiet  copse,  where  I  might  bandy 
screams  with  a  bluejay,  in  rehearsal  of  some  college 
theme  —  all  this,  I  say,  moderated  my  expectations. 
It  seems  but  yesterday  that  I  drove  from  among 
the  tasteful  houses  of  the  town,  which  since  my  boy 
time  had  crept  far  out  upon  the  margin  of  the  plain. 
It  seems  to  me  that  I  can  recall  the  note  of  an  oriole, 
that  sang  gushingly  from  the  limbs  of  an  over-reach- 
ing elm  as  we  passed.  I  know  I  remember  the  stately 
broad  road  we  took,  and  its  smooth,  firm  macadam. 
I  have  a  fancy  that  I  compared  it  in  my  own  mind, 
and  not  unfavorably,  with  the  metal  of  a  road,  which 
I  had  driven  over  only  two  months  before  in  the  en- 
virons of  Liverpool.  I  remember  a  somewhat  stately 
country  house  that  we  passed,  whose  architecture 
dissolved  any  illusions  I  might  have  been  under,  in 
regard  to  my  whereabouts.  I  remember  turning 
slightly,  perhaps  to  the  right,  and  threading  the  ways 
of  a  neat  little  manufacturing  village, —  catching 
views  of  waterfalls,  of  tall  chimneys,  of  open  pasture 
grounds  ;  and  remember  bridges,  and  other  bridges, 
and  how  the  village  straggled  on  with  its  neat  white 
palings,  and  whiter  houses,  with  honeysuckles  at  the 
doors  ;  and  how  we  skirted  a  pond,  where  the  pads 
of  lilies  lay  all  idly  afloat ;  and  how  a  great  hulk  of 
rock  loomed  up  suddenly  near  a  thousand  feet,  with 
dwarfed  cedars  and  oaks  tufting  its  crevices  —  tuft- 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  39 

ing  its  top,  and  how  we  drove  almost  beneath  it,  so 
that  I  seemed  to  be  in  Meyringen  again,  and  to  hear 
the  dash  of  the  foaming  Beichenbach  ;  and  how  we 
ascended  again,  drifting  through  another  limb  of  the 
village,  where  the  little  churches  stood  ;  and  how 
we  sped  on  past  neat  white  houses, —  rising  gently, 
—  skirted  by  hedgerows  of  tangled  cedars,  and  pres- 
ently stopped  before  a  grayish-white  farmhouse, 
where  the  air  was  all  aflow  with  the  perfume  of  great 
purple  spikes  of  lilacs.  And  thence,  though  we  had 
risen  so  little  I  had  scarce  noticed  a  hill,  we  saw  all 
the  spires  of  the  city  we  had  left,  two  miles  away  as 
a  bird  flies,  and  they  seemed  to  stand  cushioned  on 
a  broad  bower  of  leaves  ;  and  to  the  right  of  them, 
where  they  straggled  and  faded,  there  came  to  the 
eye  a  white  burst  of  water  which  was  an  arm  of  the 
sea  ;  beyond  the  harbor  and  town  was  a  purple  hazy 
range  of  hills, —  in  the  foreground  a  little  declivity, 
and  then  a  wide  plateau  of  level  land,  green  and 
lusty,  with  all  the  wealth  of  June  sunshine.  I  had 
excuse  to  be  fastidious  in  the  matter  of  landscape, 
for  within  three  months  I  had  driven  on  Kichmond 
hill,  and  had  luxuriated  in  the  valley  scene  from  the 
cote  of  St.  Cloud.  But  neither  one  nor  the  other  for- 
bade my  open  and  outspoken  admiration  of  the  view 
before  me. 

I  have  a  recollection  of  making  my  way  through 


40  MY  FARM. 

the  hedging  likes,  and  ringing  with  nervous  haste 
at  the  door  bell ;  and  as  I  turned,  the  view  from  the 
step  seemed  to  me  even  wider  and  more  enchanting 
than  from  the  carriage.  I  have  a  fancy  that  a  middle- 
aged  man,  with  iron-gray  whiskers,  answered  my 
summons  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  proposed  joining 
me  directly  under  some  trees  which  stood  a  little 
way  to  the  north.  I  recollect  dimly  a  little  country 
coquetry  of  his,  about  unwillingness  to  sell,  or  to 
name  a  price  ;  and  yet  how  he  kindly  pointed  out  to 
me  the  farm-lands,  which  lay  below  upon  the  flat, 
and  the  valley  where  his  cows  were  feeding  just 
southward,  and  how  the  hills  rolled  up  grandly 
westward,  and  were  hemmed  in  to  the  north  by  a 
heavy  belt  of  timber. 

I  think  we  are  all  hypocrites  at  a  bargain.  I  sus- 
pect I  threw  out  casual  objections  to  the  house,  and 
the  distance,  and  the  roughness  ;  and  yet  have  an 
uneasy  recollection  of  thanking  my  friend  for  having 
brought  to  my  notice  the  most  charming  spot  I  had 
yet  seen,  and  one  which  met  my  wish  in  nearly  every 
particular. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  ride  to  town  must  have 
been  very  short,  and  my  dinner  a  hasty  one  :  I  know 
I  have  a  clear  recollection  of  wandering  over  those 
hills,  and  that  plateau  of  farm-land,  afoot,  that  very 
afternoon.  I  remember  tramping  through  the  wood, 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  41 

and  testing  the  turf  after  the  manner  of  my  lank 
friend  upon  the  Hudson.  I  can  recall  distinctly  the 
aspect  of  house,  and  hills,  as  they  came  into  view  on 
my  second  drive  from  the  town  ;  how  a  great  stretch 
of  forest,  which  lay  in  common,  flanked  the  whole,  so 
that  the  farm  could  be  best  and  most  intelligibly 
described  as  —  lying  on  the  edge  of  the  wood  ;  and 
it  seemed  to  me,  that  if  it  should  be  mine,  it  should 
wear  the  name  of  —  Edgewood. 

It  is  the  name  it  bears  now.  I  will  not  detail  the 
means  by  which  the  coyness  of  my  iron-gray-haired 
friend  was  won  over  to  a  sale  ;  it  is  enough  to  tell 
that  within  six  weeks  from  the  day  on  which  I  had 
first  sighted  the  view,  and  brushed  through  the  lilac 
hedge  at  the  door,  the  place,  from  having  been  the 
home  of  another,  had  become  a  home  of  mine,  and  a 
new  stock  of  Lares  was  blooming  in  the  Atrium. 

In  the  disposition  of  the  landscape,  and  in  the 
breadth  of  the  land,  there  was  all,  and  more  than  I 
had  desired.  There  was  an  eastern  slope  where  the 
orchard  lay,  which  took  the  first  burst  of  the  morn- 
ing, and  the  first  warmth  of  Spring  ;  there  was  an- 
other valley  slope  southward  from  the  door,  which 
took  the  warmth  of  the  morning,  and  which  keeps 
the  sun  till  night.  There  was  a  wood,  in  which  now 
the  little  ones  gather  anemones  in  spring,  and  in  au- 
tumn, heaping  baskets  of  nuts.  There  was  a  strip  of 


42  MY  FARM. 

sea  in  sight,  on  which  I  can  trace  the  white  sails,  as 
they  come  and  go,  without  leaving  my  library  chair ; 
and  each  night  I  see  the  flame  of  a  lighthouse  kin- 
dled, and  its  reflection  dimpled  on  the  water.  If  the 
brook  is  out  of  sight,  beyond  the  hills,  it  has  its 
representative  in  the  fountain  that  is  gurgling  and 
plashing  at  my  door. 

And  it  is  in  full  sight  of  that  sea,  where  even  now 
the  smoky  banner  of  a  steamer  trails  along  the  sky, 
and  in  the  hearing  of  the  dash  of  that  very  fountain, 
and  with  the  fragrance  of  those  lilacs  around  me, 
that  I  close  this  initial  chapter  of  my  book,  and  lay 
down  my  pen. 


n. 

TAKING  EEINS  IN  HAND. 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND. 


Around   the  House. 

A  LTHOUGH  possessing  all  the  special  requisites 
of  which  I  had  been  in  search,  yet  the  farm 
was  by  no  means  without  its  inaptitudes  and  rough- 
nesses. There  was  an  accumulation  of  half-decayed 
logs  in  one  quarter,  of  mouldering  chips  in  another, 
—  being  monumental  of  the  choppings  and  hewings 
of  half  a  score  of  years.  Old  iron  had  its  establish- 
ment in  this  spot ;  cast-away  carts  and  sleds  in  that ; 
walls  which  had  bulged  out  with  the  upheaval  of — 
I  know  not  how  many —  frosts,  had  been  ingeniously 
mended  with  discarded  harrows  or  axles  ;  there  was 
the  usual  debris  of  clam  shells,  and  there  were  old 
outbuildings  standing  awry,  and  showing  rhom- 
boidal  angles  in  their  outline.  These  approached 
the  house  very  nearly, —  so  nearly,  in  fact,  that  in 


46  MY  FARM. 

one  direction  at  least,  it  was  difficult  to  say  where 
the  province  of  the  poultry  and  calves  ended,  and 
where  the  human  occupancy  began. 

There  was  a  monstrous  growth  of  dock  and  bur- 
dock about  the  outer  doors,  and  not  a  few  rank 
shoots  of  that  valuable  medicinal  herb  —  Stramo- 
nium. There  were  the  invariable  clumps  of  purple 
lilacs,  in  most  unmanageable  positions  ;  a  few  strag- 
gling bunches  of  daffodils  ;  an  ancient  garden  with 
its  measly  looking,  mossy  gooseberries ;  a  few 
strawberry  plants,  and  currant  bushes  keeping  up 
interruptedly  the  pleasant  formality  of  having  once 
been  set  in  rows,  and  of  having  nodded  their  crim- 
son tassels  at  each  other  across  the  walk.  There 
were  some  half  dozen  huge  old  pear  trees,  immedi- 
ately in  the  rear  of  the  house,  mossy,  and  promising 
inferior  native  fruit ;  but  full  of  a  vigor  that  I  have 
since  had  the  pleasure  of  transmuting  into  golden 
Bartletts.  There  were  a  few  plum  trees,  loaded  with 
black  knot ;  a  score  of  peach  trees  in  out  of  the  way 
places,  all  showing  unfortunate  marks  of  that  vege- 
table jaundice,  the  yellows,  which  throughout  New 
England  has  proven  in  so  many  instances  the  bane 
of  this  delicious  fruit. 

There  was  the  usual  huge  barn,  a  little  wavy  in 
its  ridge,  and  with  an  aged  settle  to  its  big  doors  ; 
while  under  the  eaves  were  jagged  pigeon  holes,  cut 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  47 

by  adventurous  boys,  ignorant  of  curvilinear  har- 
monies. Upon  the  peak  was  a  lively  weather-cock 
of  shingle,  most  preposterously  active  in  its  motions, 
and  trimming  to  every  flaw  of  wind  with  a  nervous 
rapidity,  that  reminded  me  of  nothing  so  much  as  of 
the  alacrity  of  a  small  newspaper  editor.  There  was 
the  attendant  company  of  farm  sheds, — low  sheds, 
high  sheds,  tumble-down  sheds,  one  with  a  motley 
array  of  seasoned  lumber,  well  dappled  over  with 
such  domestic  coloring  as  barn-yard  fowls  are  in  the 
habit  of  administering ;  another,  with  sleds  and 
and  sleighs, —  looking  out  of  place  in  June  —  and 
submitted  to  the  same  domestic  garniture.  There 
was  the  cider  mill  with  its  old  casks,  and  press, 
seamy  and  mildewed,  both  having  musty  taint.  A 
convenient  mossy  cherry  tree  was  hung  over  with 
last  year's  scythes  and  bush-hooks,  while  two  or 
three  broken  ox  chains  trailed  from  the  stump  of  a 
limb,  which  had  suffered  amputation.  Nor  must  I 
forget  the  shop,  half  home-made,  half  remnant  of 
something  better,  with  an  old  hat  or  two  thrust  into 
the  broken  sashes  —  with  its  unhelved,  gone-by  axes, 
its  hoes  with  half  their  blade  gone,  its  dozen  of  in- 
firm rakes,  its  hospital  shelf  for  broken  swivels,  heel- 
wedges  and  dried  balls  of  putty. 

I  remember  passing  a  discriminating  eye  over  the 
tools,  bethinking  me  how  I  would  swing  the  broad 


48  MY  FARM. 

axe,  or  put  the  saws  to  sharp  service  ;  for  in  bargain- 
ing for  the  farm,  I  had  also  bargained  for  the  imple- 
ments of  which  there  might  be  immediate  need. 

Directly  upon  the  roadway,  before  the  house,  rose 
a  high  wall,  supporting  the  little  terrace  that  formed 
the  front  yard  ;  the  terrace  was  a  wilderness  of  roses, 
syringas,  and  undipped  box.  The  entrance  way  was 
by  a  flight  of  stone  steps  which  led  through  the  middle 
of  the  terrace,  and  of  the  wall ;  while  over  the  steps 
hung  the  remnants  of  an  ancient  archway,  which 
had  once  supported  a  gilded  lantern  ;  and  I  was 
told  with  an  air  of  due  reverence,  that  this  gilded 
spangle  of  the  town  life,  was  a  memento  of  the  hos- 
pitalities of  a  certain  warm-blooded  West  Indian, 
who  in  gone-by  years  had  lighted  up  the  country 
home  with  cheery  festivities.  I  would  have  cher- 
ished the  lantern  if  it  had  not  long  before  disap- 
peared ;  and  the  steps  that  may  have  once  thronged 
under  it,  must  be  all  of  them  heavy  with  years  now, 
if  they  have  not  rested  from  their  weary  beat  alto- 
gether. Both  wall  and  terrace  are  now  gone,  and  a 
gentle  swell  of  green  turf  is  in  their  place,  skirted 
by  a  hedge  and  low  rustic  paling,  and  crowned  by  a 
gaunt  pine  tree,  and  a  bowering  elm. 

The  same  hospitable  occupant,  to  whom  I  have 
referred,  had  made  additions  to  the  home  itself,  so 
as  to  divest  it  of  the  usual,  stereotyped  farm-house 


TAKING  REINS  IN   HAND.  49 

look,  by  a  certain  quaintness  of  outline.  This  he 
had  done  by  extending  the  area  of  the  lower  story 
some  ten  feet,  in  both  front  and  rear,  while  the  roof 
of  this  annex  was  concealed  by  a  heavy  balustrade, 
perched  upon  its  eaves  ;  thus  giving  the  effect  of 
one  large  cube,  surmounted  by  a  lesser  one ;  the 
uppermost  was  topped  with  a  roof  of  sharp  pitch, 
through  whose  ridge  protruded  two  enormous  chim- 
ney stacks.  But  this  alteration  was  of  so  old  a  date 
as  not  to  detract  from  the  venerable  air  of  the  house. 
Even  the  jaunty  porch  which  jutted  in  front  of  all, 
showed  gaping  seams,  and  stains  of  ancient  leakage, 
that  forbade  any  suspicion  of  newness. 

Within,  the  rooms  had  that  low-browed  look 
which  belongs  to  country  farm-houses ;  and  I  will 
not  disguise  the  matter  by  pretending  that  they  are 
any  higher  now.  I  have  occasional  visitors  whom  I 
find  it  necessary  to  caution  as  they  pass  under  the 
doorways  ;  and  the  stray  wasps  that  will  float  into 
tbe  open  casements  of  so  old  a  country  house,  in  the 
first  warm  days  of  Spring,  are  not  out  of  reach  of 
my  boy,  (just  turned  of  five,)  as  he  mounts  a  chair, 
and  makes  a  cut  at  them  with  his  dog-whip,  upon 
the  ceiling. 

I  must  confess  that  I  do  not  dislike  this  old  hu- 
mility of  house-building  ;  if  windows,  open  chimney- 
places,  and  situation  give  good  air,  what  matters  it 
4 


So  MY  FARM. 

that  your  quarters  by  night  are  three  or  four  feet 
nearer  to  your  quarters  by  day?  In  summer,  if 
some  simple  trellised  pattern  of  paper  cover  the 
ceiling,  you  enjoy  the  illusion  of  a  low  branching 
bower  ;  and  of  a  winter  evening,  the  play  of  the  fire- 
light on  the  hearth  flashes  over  it,  with  a  kindly 
nearness. 

I  know  the  outgoing  parties  found  no  pleasant 
task  in  the  leave-taking.  I  am  sure  the  old  lady 
who  was  its  mistress  felt  a  pang  that  was  but  poorly 
concealed  ;  I  have  a  recollection  that  on  one  of  my 
furtive  visits  of  observation,  I  unwittingly  came  upon 
her  —  at  a  stand-still  over  some  bit  of  furniture  that 
was  to  be  prepared  for  the  cart, —  with  her  handker- 
chief fast  to  her  eyes.  It  cannot  be  otherwise  at 
parting  with  even  the  lowliest  homes,  where  we  have 
known  of  deaths,  and  births,  and  pleasures,  and  little 
storms  that  have  had  their  sweep  and  lull ;  and 
where  slow-pacing  age  has  declared  itself  in  gray 
hair,  and  the  bent  figure.  It  is  tearing  leaf  on  leaf 
out  of  the  thin  book  where  our  lives  are  written. 

Even  the  farmer's  dog  slipped  around  the  angles 
of  the  house,  as  the  change  was  going  forward,  with 
a  fitful,  frequent,  uneasy  trot,  as  if  he  were  disposed 
to  make  the  most  of  the  last  privileges  of  his  home. 
The  cat  alone,  of  all  the  living  occupants,  took  mat- 
ters composedly,  and  paced  eagerly  about  from  one 


TAKING   REINS  IN  HAND.  51 

to  another  of  her  disturbed  haunts  in  buttery  and 
kitchen,  with  a  philosophic  indifference.  I  should 
not  wonder  indeed  if  she  indulged  in  a  little  riotous 
exultation  at  finding  access  to  nooks  which  had  been 
hitherto  cumbered  with  assemblages  of  firkins  and 
casks.  I  have  no  faith  in  cats :  they  are  a  cold- 
blooded race  ;  they  are  the  politicians  among  do- 
mestic animals  ;  they  care  little  who  is  master,  or 
what  are  the  overturnings,  if  their  pickings  are  se- 
cure ;  and  what  are  their  midnight  caucuses  but 
primary  meetings  ? 

My  Bees. 

A  SHELF,  on  which  rested  five  bee-hives  with 
•*-~"  their  buzzing  swarms,  stood  beside  a  clump 
of  lilacs,  not  far  from  one  of  the  side  doors  of  the 
farm-house.  These  the  outgoing  occupant  was  in- 
disposed to  sell ;  it  was  "  unlucky,"  he  said,  to  give 
up  ownership  of  an  old-established  colony.  The  idea 
was  new  to  me,  and  I  was  doubly  anxious  to  buy, 
that  I  might  give  his  whimsey  a  fair  test.  So  I 
overruled  his  scruples  at  length,  moved  the  bees 
only  a  distance  of  a  few  yards,  gave  them  a  warm 
shelter  of  thatch,  and  strange  to  say,  they  all  died 
within  a  year. 

I  restocked  the  thatched  house  several  times  after- 


52  MY  FARM. 

ward  ;  and  there  was  plenty  of  marjoram  and  sweet 
clover  to  delight  them  ;  whether  it  was  that  the  mis- 
fortunes of  the  first  colony  haunted  the  place,  I  know 
not,  but  they  did  not  thrive.  Sometimes,  I  was  told, 
it  was  the  moth  that  found  its  way  into  their  hives  ; 
sometimes  it  was  an  invasion  of  piratical  ants  ;  and 
every  summer  I  observe  that  a  few  gallant  king  birds 
take  up  their  station  near  by,  and  pounce  upon  the 
flying  scouts,  as  they  go  back  with  their  golden 
booty. 

I  have  not  the  heart  to  shoot  the  king  birds ;  nor 
do  I  enter  very  actively  into  the  battle  of  the  bees 
against  the  moths,  or  the  ants  ;  least  of  all,  do  I  in- 
terfere in  the  wars  of  the  bees  among  themselves, 
which  I  have  found,  after  some  observation,  to  be 
more  destructive  and  ruinous,  than  any  war  with 
foreign  foes.*  I  give  them  fair  play,  good  lodging, 
limitless  flowers,  willows  bending  (as  Virgil  advises) 
into  the  quiet  water  of  a  near  pool ;  I  have  even  read 
up  the  stories  of  poor  blind  Huber,  who  so  loved 
the  bees,  and  the  poem  of  Giovanni  Rucellai,  for 

*  The  Rev.  Charles  Butler,  in  his  "Feminine  Monarchic" 
(London,  1609),  after  speaking  in  Chapter  VII.  of  "  Deir  Ene- 
mies," continues:  "But  not  anyone  of  des",  nor  all  des* 
togeder,  doo  half  so  muc  harm  to  de  Bees,  as  de  Bees.  Apis 
apt,  ut  Jiomo  Tiomini,  Lupus.  Dey  mak  de  greatest  spoil  bot 
of  hees  and  of  hoonie.  Dis  robbing  is  practised  all  de  year." 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  53 

their  benefit :  if  they  cannot  hold  their  sceptre 
against  the  tender-winged  moths,  who  have  no  cruel 
stings,  or  against  the  ants,  or  the  wasps,  or  give  over 
their  satanic  quarrels  with  their  kindred,  let  them 
abide  the  consequences.  I  will  not  say,  however, 
but  that  the  recollection  of  the  sharp  screams  of  a 
little  "  curl  pate  "  that  have  once  or  twice  pierced  my 
ears,  as  she  ventured  into  too  close  companionship, 
has  indisposed  me  to  any  strong  advocacy  of  the 
bees. 

My  experience  enables  me  to  say  that  hives  should 
not  be  placed  too  near  each  other  ;  the  bees  have,  as 
I  have  said,  a  very  human  propensity  to  quarrel,  and 
their  quarrels  are  ruinous.  They  blunder  into  each 
other's  homes,  if  near  together,  with  a  most  wanton 
affectation  of  forgetf ulness  ;  and  they  steal  honey  that 
has  been  carefully  stored  away  in  the  cells  of  sister 
swarms,  with  a  vicious  energy  that  they  rarely  bestow 
upon  a  flower.  In  their  field  forays,  I  believe  they 
are  respectful  of  each  other's  rights ;  but  at  home, 
if  only  the  order  is  once  disturbed,  and  a  neighbor 
swarm  shows  signs  of  weakness,  they  are  the  most 
malignant  pirates  it  is  possible  to  conceive  of. 

Again,  let  no  one  hope  for  success  in  their  treat- 
ment, unless  he  is  disposed  to  cultivate  familiarity  ; 
a  successful  bee-keeper  loves  his  bees,  and  has  a  way 
of  fondling  them,  and  pushing  his  intimacy  about 


54  MY  FARM. 

the  swarming  time,  which  I  would  not  counsel  an 
inapt  or  a  nervous  person  to  imitate. 

Gelieu,  a  Swiss  authority,  and  a  rival  of  Huber  in 
his  enthusiasm,  says :  "  Beaucoup  de  gens  aiment 
les  abeilles ;  je  n'ai  vu  personne  qui  les  aimat  medio- 
crement ;  on  se  passionne  pour  elles." 

I  have  a  neighbor,  a  quiet  old  gentleman,  who  is 
possessed  of  this  passion  ;  his  swarms  multiply  in- 
definitely ;  I  see  him  holding  frequent  conversations 
with  them  through  the  backs  of  their  hives  ;  all  the 
stores  of  my  little  colony  would  be  absorbed  in  a 
day,  if  they  were  brought  into  contact  with  his  lusty 
swarms. 

Many  of  the  old  writers  tell  pleasant  stories  of  the 
amiable  submission  of  their  favorites  to  gentle  hand- 
ling ;  but  I  have  never  had  the  curiosity  to  put  this 
submission  to  the  test.  I  remember  that  Van  Am- 
burgh  tells  tender  stories  of  the  tigers. 

I  have  observed,  however,  that  little  people  listen 
with  an  amused  interest  to  those  tales  of  the  bees, 
and  I  have  sometimes  availed  myself  of  a  curious  bit 
of  old  narrative,  to  staunch  the  pain  of  a  sting. 

"Who  will  listen,"  I  say,  "  to  a  story  of  M.  Lom- 
bard's about  a  little  girl,  on  whose  hand  a  whole 
swarm  of  bees  once  alighted  ?  " 

And  all  say  "I"  —  save  the  sobbing  one,  who 
looks  consent. 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  55 

M.  Lombard  was  a  French  lawyer,  who  was  for  a 
long  time  imprisoned  in  the  dungeons  of  Bobe- 
spierre ;  and  when  that  tyrant  reformer  was  be- 
headed, this  prisoner  gained  his  liberty,  and  went 
into  the  country,  where  he  became  a  farmer,  and 
wrote  three  or  four  books  about  the  bees  :  among 
other_  things  he  says, 

"  A  young  girl  of  my  acquaintance  was  greatly 
afraid  of  bees,  but  was  completely  cured  of  her  fear 
by  the  following  incident.  A  swarm  having  left  a 
hive,  I  observed  the  queen  alight  by  herself,  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  apiary.  I  immediately  called 
my  little  friend,  that  I  might  show  her  this  impor- 
tant personage  ;  she  was  anxious  to  have  a  nearer 
view  of  her  majesty,  and  therefore,  having  first 
caused  her  to  draw  on  her  gloves,  I  gave  the  queen 
into  her  hand.  Scarcely  had  I  done  so,  when  we 
were  surrounded  by  the  whole  bees  of  the  swarm. 
In  this  emergency  I  encouraged  the  trembling  girl 
to  be  steady,  and  to  fear  nothing,  remaining  myself 
close  by  her,  and  covering  her  head  and  shoulders 
with  a  thin  handkerchief.  I  then  made  her  stretch 
out  the  hand  that  held  the  queen,  and  the  bees  in- 
stantly alighted  on  it,  and  hung  from  her  fingers  as 
from  the  branch  of  a  tree.  The  little  girl,  experienc- 
ing no  injury,  was  delighted  above  measure  at  the 
novel  sight,  and  so  entirely  freed  from  all  fear,  that 


56  MY  FARM. 

she  bade  me  uncover  her  face.  The  spectators  were 
charmed  at  the  interesting  spectacle.  I  at  length 
brought  a  hive,  and  shaking  the  swarm  from  the 
child's  hand,  it  was  lodged  in  safety  without  inflict- 
ing a  single  sting." 

As  I  begin  the  story,  there  is  a  tear  in  the  eye  of 
the  sobbing  one,  but  as  I  read  on,  the  tear  is  gone, 
and  the  eye  dilates ;  and  when  I  have  done,  the  sting 
is  forgotten. 

I  have  written  thus  at  length,  at  the  suggestion  of 
my  thatch  of  a  bee  house,  because  I  shall  have  noth- 
ing to  say  of  my  bees  again,  as  co-partners  with  me 
in  the  flowers,  and  in  the  farm.  I  have  to  charge  to 
their  account  a  snug  sum  for  purchase  money,  and 
for  their  straw  housing  —  a  good  many  hours  of  bad 
humor,  and  the  recollection  of  those  little  screams 
to  which  I  have  already  alluded.  Thus  far,  I  can 
only  credit  them  with  one  or  two  moderately  sized 
jars  of  honey,  and  a  pleasant  concerted  buzzing  with 
which  they  welcome  the  first  warm  weather  of  the 
Spring.  Even  as  I  write,  I  observe  that  a  few  of  my 
winged  workers  are  alight  upon  the  mossy  stones 
that  lie  half  covered  in  the  basin  of  the  fountain,  and 
are  sedulously  exploring  the  water. 


TAKING   REINS  IN  HAND.  57 


Clearing  Up. 

course  one  of  the  first  aims,  in  taking  posses- 
sion  of  such  a  homestead  as  I  have  partially  de- 
scribed, was  to  make  a  clearance  ef  debris,  of  unne- 
cessary palings,  of  luxuriant  corner  crops  of  nettles 
and  burdocks,  of  mouldering  masses  of  decayed 
vegetable  matter,  of  old  conchologic  deposits,  and 
ferruginous  wreck ;  all  this  clearance  being  not  so 
much  agricultural  employment,  as  hygienic.  There 
seems  to  have  been  a  mania  with  the  old  New  Eng- 
land householders,  in  the  country,  for  multiplying 
enclosures,  —  front  yards,  back  yards,  south  and 
north  yards, —  all  with  their  palings  and  gates, 
which  grow  shaky  with  years,  and  give  cover  to  rank 
and  worthless  vegetation  in  corners  that  no  cultiva- 
tion can  reach.  Of  this  multitude  of  palings  I  made 
short  work :  good  taste,  economy,  and  all  rules  of 
good  tillage,  unite  in  favor  of  the  fewest  possible 
enclosures,  and  confirm  the  wisdom  of  making  the 
palings  for  such  as  are. necessary,  as  simple  as  their 
office  of  defence  will  allow. 

So  it  happened  under  my  ruling  that  the  little 
terrace  yard  of  the  front  lost  its  identity,  and  was 
merged  in  the  yard  to  the  north,  —  with  the  little 


58  MY  FARM. 

be  \vildered  garden  to  the  south,  —  with  the  strag- 
gling peach  orchard  in  the  rear ;  and  all  these  merged 
again,  by  the  removal  of  a  tottling  wall,  with  the  val- 
ley pasture  that  lay  southward,  where  now  clumps 
of  evergreen,  and  azalias,  and  lilacs  crown  the  little 
swells,  and  hide  the  obtrusive  angles  of  barriers  be- 
yond,—  so  that  the  children  may  race,  from  the  door, 
over  firm,  clean,  green  sward,  for  a  gunshot  away. 
This  change  has  not  been  only  to  the  credit  of  the 
eye,  but  in  every  particular  economic.  The  cost  of 
establishing  and  repairing  the  division  palings  has 
been  done  away  with ;  the  inaccessible  angles  of 
enclosures  which  fed  monstrous  wild  growth,  are 
submitted  to  even  culture  and  cropping  ;  an  under 
drain  through  the  bottom  of  the  valley  lawn,  has 
absorbed  the  scattered  stones  and  the  tottling  wall 
of  the  pasture,  and  given  a  rank  growth  of  red-top 
and  white  clover,  where  before,  through  three 
months  of  the  year,  was  almost  a  quagmire.  This 
drain,  fed  by  lesser  branches  laid  on  from  time  to 
time  through  the  springy  ground  of  the  peach  or- 
chard, and  by  the  waste  way  of  the  fountain  at  the 
door,  now  discharges  into  a. little  pool  (once  a  mud 
hole)  at  the  extremity  of  the  lawn,  where  a  willow 
or  two  timidly  dip  their  branches,  and  the  frogs 
welcome  every  opening  April  with  a  riotous  uproar 
of  voices.  Even  the  scattered  clumps  of  trees  stand 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  59 

upon  declivities  where  cultivation  would  have  been 
difficult,  or  they  hide  out-cropping  rocks  which  were 
too  heavy  for  the  walls,  or  the  drains.  So  it  has 
come  about  that  the  old  flimsy  pasture,  with  its 
blotches  of  mulleins,  thistles,  wax  myrtles,  and  the 
ill-shapen  yard,  straggling  peach  orchard  (long  since 
gone  by),  have  made  my  best  grass  field,  which 
needs  only  an  occasional  top  dressing  of  ashes  or 
compost,  and  a  biennial  scratching  with  a  fine- 
toothed  harrow,  to  yield  me  two  tons  to  the  acre  of 
sweet-scented  hay. 

I  may  remark  here,  in  way  Of  warning  to  those 
who  undertake  the  renovation  of  slatternly  country 
places,  with  exuberant  spirits,  that  it  is  a  task  which 
often  seems  easier  than  it  proves.  More  especially 
is  this  the  case  where  there  is  an  accumulation  of 
old  walls,  and  of  unsightly,  clumsy-shaped  rocks  to 
be  dealt  with.  They  may  indeed  be  transferred  to 
new  walls ;  but  this  involves  an  expenditure,  often- 
times, which  no  legitimate  estimate  of  a  farm  reve- 
nue will  warrant ;  and  I  propose  to  illustrate  in  this 
book  no  theories  of  improvement,  whether  as  re- 
gards ornamentation  or  increased  productiveness, 
which  a  sound  economy  will  not  authorize.  Agri- 
cultural successes  which  are  the  result  of  simple, 
lavish  expenditure,  without  reference  to  agricultural 
returns,  are  but  empty  triumphs  ;  no  success  in  any 


60  MY  FARM. 

method  of  culture  is  thoroughly  sound  and  praise- 
worthy, except  it  be  imitable,  to  the  extent  of  his 
means,  by  the  smallest  farmer.  The  crop  that  is 
grown  at  twice  its  market  value  to  the  bushel,  may 
possibly  suggest  a  hint  to  the  scientific  theorist ; 
but  it  will  never  be  emulated  by  the  man  whose 
livelihood  depends  upon  the  product  of  his  farm. 
Those  who  transfer  the  accumulated  fortunes  of  the 
city  to  the  country,  for  the  encouragement  of  agri- 
culture, should  bear  in  mind,  first  of  all,  that  their 
endeavors  will  have  healthy  influence,  only  so  far  as 
they  are  imitable  ;  and  they  will  be  imitable  only  so 
far  as  they  are  subordinated  to  the  trade  laws  of 
profit  and  losa  Farming  is  not  a  fanciful  pursuit ; 
its  aim  is  not  to  produce  the  largest  possible  crop  at 
whatever  cost ;  but  its  aim  is,  or  should  be,  taking  a 
series  of  years  together,  to  produce  the  largest  crops 
at  the  least  possible  cost. 

If  my  neighbor,  by  an  expenditure  of  three  or 
four  hundred  dollars  to  the  acre  in  the  removal  of 
rocks  and  other  impedimenta,  renders  his  field  equal 
to  an  adjoining  smooth  one,  which  will  pay  a  fair 
farm  rental  on  a  valuation  of  only  two  hundred  dol- 
lars per  acre,  he  may  be  congratulated  upon  having 
extended  his  available  agricultural  area,  but  he  can- 
not surely  be  congratulated  on  having  made  a  profit- 
able transaction. 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  61 

The  weazen-faced  old  gentlemen  who  drive  by  in 
their  shirt  sleeves,  and  call  attention  to  the  matter 
with  a  gracious  wave  of  their  hickory  whipstocks, 
allow  that  —  "it  looks  handsome  ;  but  don't  pay." 
Such  observers  —  and  they  make  up  the  bulk  of  those 
who  have  the  country  in  their  keeping  —  must  be 
addressed  through  their  notions  of  economy,  or  they 
will  not  be  reached  at  all. 

In  the  case  supposed,  I  have,  of  course,  assumed 
that  only  ordinary  farm  culture  was  to  be  bestowed  : 
although  there  may  be  conditions  of  high  tillage, 
extraordinary  nicety  of  culture,  and  nearness  to  a 
large  market,  which  would  warrant  the  expenditure 
of  even  a  thousand  dollars  per  acre  with  profitable 
results. 

But  rocky  farms,  even  away  from  markets,  are 
not  without  their  profits,  and  a  certain  wild,  yet  sub- 
dued order  of  their  own.  I  have  never  seen  sweeter 
or  warmer  pasture  ground,  than  upon  certain  hill- 
sides strown  thick  with  great  granite  boulders  span- 
gled with  mica,  and  green-gray  mosses  ;  nor  was  the 
view  unthrifty,  with  its  fat,  ruffle-necked  merino 
ewes  grazing  in  company  ;  nor  yet  unattractive  to 
other  than  farm-eyes  —  with  its  brook  bursting  from 
under  some  ledge  that  is  overhung  with  gnarled 
birches,  and  illuminated  with  nodding,  crimson  col- 
umbines —  then  yawing  away  between  its  green 


62  MY  FARM. 

banks,  with  a  new  song  for  every  stone  that  tripped 
its  flow. 

One  of  the  daintiest  and  most  productive  fruit 
gardens  it  was  ever  my  pleasure  to  see,  was  in  the 
midst  of  other  gray  rocks  ;  the  grapevines  so  trained 
as  to  receive  the  full  reflection  of  the  sun  from  the 
surface  of  the  boulders,  and  the  intervals  occupied 
with  rank  growing  gooseberries  and  plums,  all  faith- 
fully subject  to  spade  culture.  The  expense  of  the 
removal  of  the  rocks  would  have  been  enormous ; 
and  I  doubt  very  seriously  if  the  productive  capacity 
would  have  been  increased.  Again,  I  have  seen  a 
ridge  of  cliff  with  its  outlying  slaty  debris,  in  the 
very  centre  of  a  garden,  which  many  a  booby  leveller 
would  have  been  disposed  to  blast  away,  and  trans- 
mute into  walls,  —  yet  under  the  hand  of  taste,  so 
tressed  over  with  delicate  trailing  plants,  and  so 
kindled  up  with  flaming  spikes  of  Salvia,  and  masses 
of  scarlet  geranium,  as  to  make  it  the  crowning  at- 
traction of  the  place.  All  clearance  is  not  judicious 
clearance. 

But  I  have  not  yet  cleared  the  way  to  my  own 
back  door  :  though  at  a  distance  of  only  a  few  rods 
from  the  highway,  I  could  reach  it,  on  taking  occu- 
pancy, only  by  skirting  a  dangerous-looking  shed, 
and  passing  through  two  dropsical  gates  that  were 
heavy  with  a  mass  of  mouldy  lumber. 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  63 

These  gates  opened  upon  a  straggling  cattle  yard, 
'  whose  surface  was  so  high  and  dense,  as  to  dis- 
tribute a  powerful  flow  of  yellow  streamlets  in  very 
awkward  directions  after  every  shower.  One  angle 
of  this  yard  it  was  necessary  to  traverse  before  reach- 
ing my  door.  My  clearance  here  was  decisive  and 
prompt.  The  threatening  shed  came  down  upon  the 
run ;  the  mouldering  gates  and  fences  were  splin- 
tered into  kindling  wood  ;  the  convexity  of  the  cattle 
yard  was  scooped  into  a  dish,  with  provision  for 
possible  overflow  in  safe  directions.  A  snug  compact 
fence  blinded  it  all,  and  confined  it  within  reasonable 
limits.  A  broad,  free,  gravelly  yard,  with  occasional 
obtrusive  stones,  now  lay  open,  through  which  I 
ordered  a  loaded  team  to  be  driven  by  the  easiest 
track  from  the  highway  to  the  door,  and  thence  to 
make  an  easy  and  natural  turn,  and  pass  on  to  the 
stable-court.  This  line  of  transit  marked  out  my  road: 
what  was  easiest  for  the  cattle  once,  would  be  easiest 
always.  There  is  no  better  rule  for  laying  down  an 
approach  over  rolling  ground — none  so  simple ;  none 
which,  in  one  instance  out  of  six,  will  show  more  grace 
of  outline.  The  obtrusive  stones  were  removed  ;  the 
elliptical  spaces  described  by  the  inner  line  of  track, 
which  were  untouched,  and  which  would  need  never 
to  be  touched  by  any  passage  of  teams,  were  dug 
over  and  stocked  with  evergreens,  lilacs,  and  azalias. 


64  MY  FARM. 

These  are  now  well  established  clumps,  in  which 
wild  vines  have  intruded,  and  under  which  the  brood 
of  summer  chickens  find  shelter  from  the  sun,  and 
the  children  a  pretty  cover  for  their  hoydenish  "  hide 
and  go  seek." 

Thus  far  I  have  anticipated  those  changes  and  im- 
provements which  immediately  concerned  the  com- 
fort and  the  order  of  the  home.  With  these  pro- 
vided, and  the  paperers  and  painters  all  fairly  turned 
adrift,  and  the  newly  planted  flowers  abloom,  the 
question  occurs  —  What  shall  be  done  with  the  Farm? 


What  to  Do  irith  the  Farm. 

are  not  a  few  entertaining  people  of  the 
cities,  who  imagine  that  a  farm  of  one  or  two 
hundred  acres  has  a  way  of  managing  itself ;  and 
that  it  works  out  crops  and  cattle  from  time  to  time, 
very  much  as  small  beer  works  into  a  foamy  ripeness, 
by  a  law  of  its  own  necessity. 

I  wish  with  all  my  heart  that  it  were  true  ;  but  it 
is  not  For  successful  farming,  there  must  be  a  well 
digested  plan  of  operations,  and  the  faithful  execu- 
tion of  that  plan.  It  is  possible,  indeed,  to  secure 
the  services  of  an  intelligent  manager,  upon  whom 
shall  devolve  all  the  details  of  the  business,  and  who 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  65 

shall  shape  all  the  agricultural  operations,  by  the 
rules  of  his  own  experience  ;  but  however  extended 
this  experience  may  have  been,  the  result  will  be,  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten,  most  unsatisfactory  to  one  who 
wishes  to  have  a  clear  and  intimate  knowledge  of  the 
capabilities  of  his  land ;  and  very  disagreeably  un- 
satisfactory to  one  who  has  entertained  the  pleasing 
illusion  that  farm  lands  should  not  only  be  capable 
of  paying  their  own  way,  but  of  making  respecta- 
ble return  upon  the  capital  invested.  Your  accom- 
plished farm  manager  —  usually  of  British  birth  and 
schooling,  but  of  a  later  American  finish,  —  is  apt  to 
entertain  the  conviction  that  an  employer  who  gives 
over  farm  land  to  his  control,  regards  such  farm  land 
only  as  a  pleasant  parade  ground  for  fine  cattle  and 
luxuriant  crops,  which  are  to  be  placed  on  show 
without  much  regard  to  cost.  And  if  he  can  estab- 
lish the  owner  in  a  conspicuous  position  on  the  prize 
lists  of  the  County  or  State  Societies,  and  excite  the 
gaping  wonderment  of  old-fashioned  neighbors  by 
the  luxuriance  of  his  crops,  he  is  led  to  believe  that 
he  has  achieved  the  desired  success. 

The  end  of  it  is,  that  the  owner  enjoys  the  honors 
of  official  mention,  without  the  fatigue  of  relieving 
himself  of  ignorance  ;  the  manager  is  doubly  sure  of 
his  stipend ;  and  the  inordinate  expense  under  a  di- 
rection that  is  not  limited  by  commercial  proprieties 
5 


66  MY  FARM. 

or  proportions,  weakens  the  faith  of  all  onlookers  in 
"  improved  farming." 

I  am  satisfied  that  a  great  deal  of  hindrance  is 
done  in  this  way  to  agricultural  progress,  by  those 
who  have  only  the  best  intentions  in  the  matter. 
My  friend,  Mr.  Tallweed,  for  instance,  after  accumu- 
lating a  fortune  in  the  city,  is  disposed  to  put  on  the 
dignity  of  country  pursuits,  and  advance  the  inter- 
ests of  agriculture.  He  purchases  a  valuable  place, 
builds  his  villa,  plants,  refits,  exhausts  architectural 
resources  in  his  outbuildings,  all  under  the  advice 
of  a  shrewd  Scotchman  recommended  by  Thorburn, 
and  can  presently  make  such  show  of  dainty  cattle, 
and  of  mammoth  vegetables,  as  excites  the  stare  of 
the  neighborhood,  and  leads  to  his  enrolment  among 
the  dignitaries  of  the  County  Society. 

But  the  neighbors  who  stare,  have  their  occasional 
chat  with  the  canny  Scot,  from  whom  they  learn  that 
the  expenses  of  the  business  are  "  gay  large ;  "  they 
pass  a  quiet  side  wink  from  one  to  the  other,  as  they 
look  at  the  vaulted  cellars,  and  the  cumbrous  ma- 
chinery ;  they  remark  quietly  that  the  multitude  of 
implements  does  not  forbid  the  employment  of  a 
multitude  of  farm  "  hands ; "  they  shake  their  heads 
ominously  at  the  extraordinary  purchases  of  grain  ; 
they  observe  that  the  pet  calves  are  usually  indulged 
with  a  wet  nurse,  in  the  shape  of  some  rawboned 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  67 

native  cow,  bought  specially  to  add  to  the  resources 
of  the  fine-blooded  dam ;  and  with  these  things  in 
their  mind  —  they  reflect. 

If  the  results  are  large,  it  seems  to  them  that  the 
means  are  still  more  extraordinary  ;  if  they  wonder 
at  the  size  of  the  crops,  they  wonder  still  more  at  the 
liberality  of  the  expenditure  ;  it  seems  to  them,  after 
full  comparison  of  notes  with  the  "braw  "  Scot,  that 
even  their  own  stinted  crops  would  show  a  better 
balance  sheet  for  the  farm.  It  appears  to  them  that 
if  premium  crops  and  straight-backed  animals  can 
only  be  had  by  such  prodigious  appliances  of  men 
and  money,  that  fine  farming  is  not  a  profession  to 
grow  rich  by.  And  yet,  our  doubtful  friends  of  the 
homespun  will  enjoy  the  neighborhood  of  such  a 
farmer,  and  profit  by  it ;  they  love  to  sell  him  "  likely 
young  colts  ; "  they  eagerly  furnish  him  with  butter 
(at  the  town  price),  and  possibly  with  eggs, —  his  own 
fowls  being  mostly  fancy  ones,  bred  for  premiums, 
and  indisposed  to  lay  largely  ;  in  short,  they  like  to 
tap  his  superfluities  in  a  hundred  ways.  They  ad- 
mire Mr.  Tallweed,  particularly  upon  Fair  days, 
when  he  appears  in  the  dignity  of  manager  for  some 
special  interest ;  and  remark,  among  themselves, 
that  "the  Squire  makes  a  thunderin'  better  com- 
mittee-man, than  he  does  farmer."  And  when  they 
read  of  him  in  their  agricultural  journal  —  if  they 


68  MY  FARM. 

take  one  —  as  a  progressive,  and  successful  agricul- 
turist, they  laugh  a  little  in  their  sleeves  in  a  quiet 
way,  and  conceive,  I  am  afraid,  the  same  unfortunate 
distrust  of  the  farm  journal,  which  we  all  entertain 
—  of  the  political  ones. 

Yet  the  Squire  is  as  innocent  of  all  deception, 
and  of  all  ill  intent  in  the  matter,  as  he  is  of  thrift 
in  his  farming.  Whoever  brings  to  so  practical  a 
business  the  ambition  to  astonish  by  the  enormity 
of  his  crops,  at  whatever  cost,  is  unwittingly  doing 
discredit  to  those  laws  of  economy,  which  alone  jus- 
tify and  commend  the  craft  to  a  thoroughly  earnest 
worker. 

Having  brought  no  ambition  of  this  sort  to  my 
trial  of  country  life,  even  if  I  had  possessed  the 
means  to  give  it  expression,  I  had  also  no  desire  to 
give  over  all  plans  of  management  to  a  bailiff,  how- 
ever shrewd.  The  greatest  charm  of  a  country  life 
seems  to  me  to  spring  from  that  familiarity  with  the 
land,  and  its  capabilities,  which  can  come  only  from 
minute  personal  observation,  or  the  successive  devel- 
opments of  one's  own  methods  of  culture.  I  can 
admire  a  stately  crop  wherever  I  see  it ;  but  if  I  have 
directed  the  planting,  and  myself  applied  the  dress- 
ing, and  am  testing  my  own  method  of  tillage,  I 
look  upon  it  with  a  far  keener  relish.  Every  week  it 
unfolds  a  charm  ;  if  it  puts  on  a  lusty  dark  green,  I 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  69 

see  that  it  is  taking  hold  upon  the  fertilizers  ;  if  it 
yellows  in  the  cool  nights,  and  grows  pale,  I  bethink 
me  if  I  will  not  put  off  the  planting  for  a  week  in  the 
season  to  come  ;  if  it  curl  overmuch  in  the  heats  of 
later  June,  I  reckon  up  the  depth  of  my  ploughing  ; 
and  when  the  spindles  begin  to  peep  out  from  their 
green  sheaths  day  after  day,  and  lift  up,  and  finally 
from  their  feathery  fingers  shake  down  pollen  upon 
the  silk  nestling  coyly  below,  I  see  in  it  all  a  modest 
promise  to  me  —  repeated  in  every  shower — of  the 
golden  ears  that  shall  by  and  by  stand  blazing  in  the 
October  sunshine. 

But  all  this  only  answers  negatively  my  question 
of  —  What  to  do  with  the  Farm  ? 

At  least,  it  shall  not  be  handed  over  absolutely  to 
the  control  of  a  manager,  no  matter  what  good  char- 
acter he  may  bring  ;  and  I  will  aim  at  -a  system  of 
cropping,  which  shall  make  some  measurable  return 
for  the  cost  of  production. 


Dairying. 

A  NY  judicious  farm-system  must  be  governed  in 
-*—*-  a  large  degree  by  the  character  of  the  soil,  and 
by  the  nearest  available  market.  It  is  not  easy  to 
create  a  demand  for  what  is  not  wanted ;  nor  is  it 


70  MY  FARM. 

much  easier  so  to  transmute  soils  by  culture  or  by 
dressings,  as  to  produce  profitably  those  crops  to 
which  the  soils  do  not  naturally  incline.  I  am  fully 
aware  that  in  saying  this,  I  shall  start  an  angry  buzz 
about  my  ears,  of  those  progressive  agriculturists, 
who  allege  that  skilful  tillage  will  enable  a  man  to 
produce  any  crop  he  chooses  :  I  am  perfectly  aware 
that  Tull,  who  was  the  great  farm  reformer  of  his 
day,  ridiculed  with  unction  what  he  regarded  as 
those  antiquated  notions  of  Virgil,  that  soils  had 
their  antipathies  and  their  likings,  and  that  a  farmer 
could  not  profitably  impress  ground  to  carry  a  crop 
against  its  inclination.  But  I  strongly  suspect  that 
Tull,  like  a  great  many  earnest  reformers,  in  his  ad- 
vocacy of  the  supreme  benefit  of  tillage,  shot  beyond 
the  mark,  and  assumed  for  his  doctrine  a  universality 
of  application  which  practice  will  not  warrant.  My 
observation  warrants  me  in  believing  that  no  light 
and  friable  soil  will  carry  permanent  pasture  or 
meadow,  with  the  same  profit  which  belongs  to  the 
old  grass  bottoms  of  the  Hartford  meadows,  of  the 
blue-grass  region,  and  of  Somersetshire.  I  am 
equally  confident  that  no  stiff  clayey  soil  will  pay  so 
well  for  the  frequent  workings  which  vegetable  cul- 
ture involves,  as  a  light  loam. 

Travellers  who  are  trustworthy,  teD  us  that  the 
grape  from  which  the  famous  Constantia  wine  is 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  71 

made,  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  is  grown  from  the 
identical  stock  which  on  the  Khine  banks,  makes  an 
inferior  and  totally  different  wine  :  and  my  own  ob- 
servation has  shown  me  that  the  grapes  which  on 
the  Lafitte  estate  make  that  ruby  vintage  whose 
aroma  alone  is  equal  to  a  draught  of  ordinary  Medoc 
—  only  across  the  highway,  and  within  gunshot, 
produce  a  wine  for  which  the  proprietor  would  be 
glad  to  receive  a  fourth  only  of  the  Lafitte  price. 

Lands  have  their  likings  then,  though  Mr.  Tull  be 
of  the  contrary  opinion.  Any  crop  may  indeed  be 
grown  wherever  we  supply  the  requisite  conditions 
of  warmth,  moisture,  depth  of  soil,  and  appropriate 
dressings ;  but  just  in  the  proportion  that  we  find 
these  conditions  absent  in  any  given  soil,  and  are 
compelled  to  supply  them  artificially,  we  diminish 
the  chances  of  profit. 

My  own  soil  was  of  a  light  loamy  character,  and 
the  farm  lay  within  two  miles  of  a  town  of  forty 
thousand  inhabitants. 

Such  being  the  facts,  what  should  be  the  general 
manner  of  treatment  ? 

Grazing,  which  is  in  many  respects  the  most  invit- 
ing of  all  modes  of  farming,  was  out  of  the  question, 
for  the  reason  that  the  soil  did  not  incline  to  that 
firm,  close  turf-surface,  which  invites  grazing,  and 
renders  it  profitable.  Nor  do  I  mean  to  admit,  what 


72  My  FARM. 

many  old-fashioned  gentlemen  are  disposed  to  affirm, 
that  all  land  which  does  not  so  incline,  is  necessarily 
inferior  to  that  which  does.  If  grazing  were  the 
chiefest  of  agricultural  interests,  it  might  be  true. 
But  it  must  be  observed  that  strong  grass  lands  have 
generally  a  tenacity  and  a  retentiveness  of  moisture, 
which  forbid  that  frequent  and  early  tillage,  that  is 
essential  to  other  growths ;  and  upon  careful  reckon- 
ing, I  doubt  very  much,  if  it  would  not  appear  that 
some  of  the  very  light  lands  in  the  neighborhood  of 
cities,  pay  a  larger  percentage  upon  the  agricultural 
capital  invested,  than  any  purely  grazing  lands  in  the 
country.  Again,  even  supposing  that  the  soil  were 
adapted  to  grazing,  it  is  quite  doubtful  if  the  best  of 
grazing  lands  will  prove  profitable  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  large  towns ;  doubtful  if  beef  and  mutton 
cannot  be  made  cheaper  in  out-of-the-way  districts, 
where  by  reason  of  distance  from  an  everyday  mar- 
ket, lands  command  a  low  price. 

For  kindred  reasons,  no  farm,  so  near  a  large  town 
of  the  East,  invites  the  growth  of  grain  :  on  this 
score  there  can  be  no  competition  with  the  West, 
except  in  retired  parts  of  the  country,  where  land  is 
of  little  marketable  value. 

What  then  ?  Grazing  does  not  promise  well ;  nor 
does  grain-growing.  Shall  I  stock  my  land  with 
grass,  and  seh1  the  hay  ?  Unfortunately,  this  esperi- 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  73 

merit  has  been  carried  too  far  already.  A  near  mar- 
ket, and  the  small  amount  of  labor  involved,  always 
encourage  it.  But  I  am  of  opinion  that  no  light 
land  will  warrant  this  strain,  except  where  manures 
from  outside  sources  are  easily  available,  and  are 
applied  with  a  generous  hand.  Such,  for  instance, 
is  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  sea-shore, 
where  fish  and  rockweed  are  accessible  ;  or,  what 
amounts  to  the  same  thing,  such  disposition  of  the 
land  as  admits  of  thorough  irrigation.  In  my  case, 
both  these  were  wanting.  I  must  depend  for  ma- 
nurial  resources  upon  the  consumption  of  the  grasses 
at  home. 

And  this  suggests  dairying  :  dairying  in  its  ordi- 
nary sense,  indeed,  as  implying  butter  and  cheese- 
making,  involves  grazing  ;  and  can  be  most  profit- 
ably conducted  on  natural  grass  lands,  and  at  a  large 
distance  from  market,  since  the  transport  of  these 
commodities  is  easy.  But  there  remains  another 
branch  of  dairying  —  milk  supply  —  which  demands 
nearness  to  market,  which  is  even  more  profitable, 
and  which  does  not  involve  necessarily  a  large  reach 
of  grazing  land  :  the  most  successful  milk  dairies 
in  this  country,  as  in  Great  Britain,  being  now  con- 
ducted upon  the  soiling  principle  —  that  is,  the  sup- 
ply of  green  food  to  the  cows,  in  their  enclosures  or 
stalls. 


74  MY  FARM. 

What  plan  then  could  be  better  than  this  ?  Trans- 
portation to  market  was  small ;  the  demand  con- 
stant ;  the  thorough  tillage  which  the  condition  of 
the  soil  required,  was  encouraged  ;  an  accumulation 
of  fertilizing  material  secured. 

The  near  vicinity  of  a  town  suggests  also  to  a 
good  husbandman,  the  growth  of  those  perishable 
products  which  will  not  bear  distant  transportation, 
such  as  the  summer  fruits  and  vegetables.  These 
demand  also  a  thorough  system  of  tillage,  and  a 
light  friable  soil  is,  of  all  others,  best  adapted  to 
their  successful  culture.  But  on  the  other  hand, 
they  do  not  in  themselves  furnish  the  means  of  re- 
cuperating lands  which  have  suffered  from  injudi- 
cious overcropping.  Their  cultivation,  unless  upon 
fields  which  are  already  in  a  high  state  of  tilth,  in- 
volves a  large  outlay  for  fertilizing  materials  and  for 
labor  —  which  at  certain  seasons  must  be  at  abso- 
lute command. 

In  view  of  these  considerations,  which  I  commend 
to  the  attention  and  to  the  criticism  of  the  Agri- 
cultural Journals,  I  determined  that  I  would  have 
my  herd  of  milch  cows,  and  commence  professional 
life  as  milkman ;  keeping,  however,  the  small  fruits 
and  the  vegetables  in  reserve,  against  the  time  when 
the  land  by  an  effective  recuperative  system,  should  be 
able  to  produce  whatever  the  market  might  demand. 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  75 

Happily,  too,  a  country  liver  is  not  bound  to  a 
single  farm  adventure.  If  the  cows  stand  sweltering  ' 
in  the  reeking  stables,  it  shall  not  forbid  a  combing 
down  of  the  ancient  pear  trees,  and  the  tufting  of  all 
their  tops  with  an  abounding  growth  of  new  wood, 
that  shall  presently  be  aglow  with  the  Bonne  de  Jer- 
sey, or  with  luscious  Bartletts. 

If  there  is  a  rattle  of  tins  in  the  dairy,  the  blue- 
birds are  singing  in  the  maples.  If  an  uneasy  milker 
kicks  over  the  pail,  there  is  a  patch  of  "  Jenny  Lands  " 
that  makes  a  fragrant  recompense.  If  the  thunder 
sours  the  milk,  the  nodding  flowers  and  the  rejoicing 
grass  give  the  shower  a  welcome. 

Laborers. 

"I TAVING  decided  upon  a  plan,  the  next  thing  to 
~* —  be  considered  is  the  personal  agency  for  its 
administration. 

There  was  once  a  time,  if  we  may  believe  a  great 
many  tender  pastorals  and  madrigals  such  as  Kit 
Marlowe  sang,  when  there  were  milkmaids  :  and  the 
sweetest  of  Overbury's  "Characters"  is  his  little 
sketch  of  the  "  faire  damsel,"  who  hath  such  fingers 
"  that  in  milking  a  cow,  it  seemes  that  so  sweet  a 
milk-presse  makes  the  milk  the  whiter,  or  sweeter." 
But  milkmaids  nowadays  are  mostly  Cormaught- 


76  MY  FARM. 

men,  in  cowhide  boots  and  black  satin  waistcoats, 
who  say  "  begorra,"  and  beat  the  cows  with  the 
milking-stooL 

Overbury  says  of  the  ancient  British  type  —  "  Her 
breath  is  her  own,  which  sents  all  the  yeare  long  of 
June,  like  a  newmade  haycock." 

And  I  may  say  of  the  present  representative  — 
His  breath  is  his  own,  which  "  sents  all  the  yeare 
long  "  of  proof  spirits,  like  a  newmade  still. 

Overbury  tenderly  says  —  "  Thus  lives  she,  and  all 
her  care  is  she  may  die  in  the  spring  time,  to  have 
store  of  flowers  stucke  upon  her  winding  sheet." 

And  I,  as  pathetically  :  —  Thus  fares  he,  and  all 
his  care  is  he  may  get  his  full  wage,  and  a  good  jol- 
lification "  nixt  St.  Parthrick's  day." 

This  is  only  my  way  of  introducing  the  labor  ques- 
tion, which,  in  every  aspect,  is  a  serious  one  to  a 
party  entering  upon  the  management  of  country 
property.  If  such  party  is  anticipating  the  employ- 
ment of  one  of  Sir  Thomas  Overbury's  milk-maydes, 
or  of  the  pretty  damsel  who  sang  Marlowe's  song  to 
Izaak  "Walton,  let  him  disabuse  his  mind.  In  place 
of  it  all,  he  will  sniff  boots  that  remind  of  a  damp 
cattle  yard,  and  listen  to  sharp  brogue  that  will  be  a 
souvenir  of  Donnybrook  Fair.  In  briefest  possible 
terms,  the  inferior  but  necessary  labor  of  a  farm 
must  be  performed  now,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  by 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  77 

the  most  inefficient  of  Americans,  or  by  the  rawest 
and  most  uncouth  of  Irish  or  Germans. 

There  lived  some  twenty  or  thirty  years  ago  in 
New  England,  a  race  of  men,  American  born,  and 
who,  having  gone  through  a  two  winters'  course  of 
district  school  ciphering  and  reading,  with  cropped 
tow  heads,  became  the  most  indefatigable  and  inge- 
nious of  farm  workers.  Their  hoeing  was  a  sleight 
of  hand  ;  they  could  make  an  ox  yoke,  or  an  ax  helve 
on  rainy  days ;  by  adroit  manipulation,  they  could 
relieve  a  choking  cow,  or  as  deftly,  hive  a  swarm  of 
bees.  Their  furrows  indeed  were  not  of  the  straight- 
est ;  but  their  control  of  a  long  team  of  oxen  was  a 
miracle  of  guidance.  They  may  have  carried  a  bit 
of  Cavendish  twist  in  their  waistcoat  pockets  ;  they 
certainly  did  not  waste  time  at  lavations  ;  but  as 
farm  workers  they  had  rare  aptitude  ;  no  tool  came 
amiss  to  them  ;  they  cradled  ;  they  churned,  if  need 
were  ;  they  chopped  and  piled  their  thre,a  cords  of 

wood  between  sun  and  sun.     With  bait,  ^set,  and  a 

r  • 
keen-whetted  six-pound  Blanchard,  th4     -aid  such 

clean  and  broad  swathes  through  the  fie*,  ^s  of  dewy 
herdsgrass,  as  made  "  old-country-men  <J  stare.  By 
a  kind  of  intuition,  they  knew  the  locality  of  every 
tree,  and  of  every  medicinal  herb  that  grew  in  the 
woods.  Rarest  of  all  which  they  possessed,  was  an 
acuteness  of  understanding,  which  enabled  them  to 


78  MY  FARM. 

comprehend  an  order  before  it  was  half  uttered,  and 
to  meet  occasional  and  unforeseen  difficulties,  with  a 
steady  assurance,  as  if  these  had  been  an  accepted 
part  of  the  problem.  It  was  possible  to  send  a  man 
of  this  sort  into  a  wood  with  his  team,  to  select  a  stick 
of  timber,  of  chestnut  or  oak,  that  should  measure  a 
given  amount ;  he  could  be  trusted  to  find  such,  — 
to  cut  it,  to  score  it,  to  load  it ;  if  the  gearing  broke, 
he  could  be  trusted  to  mend  it ;  if  the  tree  lodged, 
he  could  be  trusted  to  devise  some  artifice  for  bring- 
ing it  down  ;  and  finally,  —  for  its  sure  and  prompt 
delivery  at  the  point  indicated.  Your  Irishman,  on 
the  other  hand,  balks  at  the  first  turn  ;  he  must  have 
a  multitude  of  chains ;  he  needs  a  boy  to  aid  him 
with  the  team,  and  another  to  carry  a  bar;  he 
spends  an  hour  in  his  doubtful  estimate  of  dimen- 
sions ;  but  "begorra,  it's  a  lumpish  tree,"  and  he 
thwacks  into  the  rind  a  foot  or  two  from  the  ground, 
so  as  to  leave  a  "nate  "  Irish  stump.  Half  through 
the  bole,  h  ."begins  to  doubt  if  it  be  indeed  a  chest- 
nut or  a  poplar ;  and  casting  his  eye  aloft  to  measure 

r 

it  anew,  ai  (  ancient  woodpecker  drops  something 
smarting  u;  his  eye  ;  and  his  howl  starts  the  rumi- 
nating tean.  into  a  confused  entanglement  among  the 
young  wooi  Having  eased  his  pain,  and  extricated 
his  cattle,  he  pushes  on  with  his  axe,  and  presently, 
with  a  light  crash  of  pliant  boughs,  his  timber  is 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  79 

lodged  in  the  top  of  an  adjoining  tree.  He  tugs, 
and  strains,  and  swears,  and  splits  the  helve  of  his 
axe  in  adapting  it  for  a  lever,  and  presently,  near  to 
noon,  comes  back  for  three  or  four  hands  to  give 
him  a  boost  with  the  tree.  You  return  —  to  find 
the  team  strayed  through  a  gate  left  open,  into  a 
thriving  cornfield,  and  one  of  your  pet  tulip  trees 
lodged  in  a  lithe  young  hickory. 

"  Och !  and  it's  a  toolip  —  it  is !  and  I  was  thinkin' 
'twas  niver  a  chistnut ;  begorra,  it's  lucky  thin,  it 
didn't  come  down  intirely." 

These  and  other  such,  replace  the  New  Englander 
born,  who  long  ago  was  paid  off,  wrapped  his  savings 
in  a  dingy  piece  of  sheepskin,  scratched  his  head  re- 
flectingly,  and  disappeared  from  the  stage.  He  has 
become  the  father  of  a  race  that  is  hewing  its  way  in 
Oregon,  or  he  is  a  dignitary  in  Wisconsin,  or  thwack- 
ing terribly  among  the  foremost  fighters  of  the  war 
(1862). 

Here  and  there  remains  an  aged  representative  of 
the  class,  with  all  his  nasal  twang  and  his  aptitude 
for  a  score  of  different  services ;  but  the  chances  are, 
if  he  has  failed  of  placing  himself  in  the  legislative 
chambers  of  the  West,  or  of  holding  ownership  of 
some  rough  farm  of  his  own,  that  he  has  some  moral 
obliquity  which  makes  him  an  outcast. 

Certain  it  is,  that  very  few  native  Americans  of 


8o  MY  FARM. 

activity  and  of  energy  are  to  be  decoyed  into  the 
traces  of  farm  labor,  unless  they  can  assume  the  full 
direction.  American  blood  is  fast,  and  fast  blood  is 
impatient  with  a  hoe  among  small  carrots.  It  is  well, 
perhaps  that  blood  is  so  fast,  and  hopes  so  talL 
These  tell  grandly  in  certain  directions,  but  they  are 
not  available  for  working  over  a  heap  of  compost. 
The  American  eagle  is  a  fine  bird,  but  he  does  not 
consume  grasshoppers  like  a  turkey. 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  dexterous  labor  is  not  now 
available,  there  is  a  satisfaction  in  knowing  that  the 
necessity  for  it  is  year  by  year  diminishing.  Under 
the  old  system  of  growing  all  that  a  man  might  need 
within  his  own  grounds,  a  proper  farm  education 
embraced  a  considerable  knowledge  of  a  score  of 
different  crops  and  avocations.  The  tendency  is 
now,  however,  to  centralize  attention  upon  that  line 
of  cropping  which  is  best  suited  to  the  land ;  this 
limits  the  range  of  labor,  while  the  improved  me- 
chanical appliances  fill  a  thousand  wants,  which  were 
once  only  to  be  met  by  a  dexterous  handicraft  at 
home.  None  but  a  few  sharp-faced  old  gentlemen 
of  a  very  ancient  school,  think  nowadays  of  making 
their  own  ox  yokes  or  their  own  cheese  presses  ;  or, 
if  their  crop  be  large,  of  pounding  out  their  grain 
with  a  flail.  And  it  is  noticeable  in  this  connection 
that  the  implements  in  the  use  of  which  the  native 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  81 

workers  were  most  unmatchable,  are  precisely  the 
ones  which  in  practical  farming  are  growing  less  and 
less  important  every  year,  —  to  wit,  the  axe  and  the 
scythe  :  the  first  being  now  confined  mostly  to  clear- 
ings of  timber,  and  the  second  is  fast  becoming 
merely  a  garden  implement  for  the  dressing  of  lawns. 

I  perceive,  very  clearly,  from  all  this,  that  I  am 
not  to  be  brought  in  contact  with  a  race  of  Arca- 
dians. Meliboeus  will  not  do  the  milking,  nor  Tity- 
rus,  —  though  there  shall  be  plenty  of  snoozing 
under  the  beech  trees.  It  is  also  lamentably  true 
that  the  uncouth  and  unkempt  Irish  or  Germans, 
whom  it  becomes  necessary  to  employ,  place  no  pride 
or  love  in  their  calling  like  the  English  farm  laborers, 
or  like  that  gone-by  stock  of  New  England  farm 
workers  at  whom  I  have  hinted. 

Your  Irish  friend  may  be  a  good  reaper,  he  may 
possibly  be  a  respectable  ploughman  (though  it  is 
quite  doubtful) ;  but  in  no  event  will  he  cherish  any 
engrossing  attachment  to  country  labors  ;  nor  will 
he  come  to  have  any  pride  in  the  successes  that  may 
grow  out  of  them. 

Every  month  he  is  ready  to  drift  away  toward  any 
employment  which  will  bring  increase  of  pay.  He 
is  your  factotum  to-day,  and  to-morrow  may  be 
shouldering  a  hod,  or  scraping  hides  for  a  soap 
boiler.  The  German,  too,  however  accomplished  a 


82  MY  FARM. 

worker  he  may  become,  falls  straightway  into  the  same 
American  passion  of  unrest,  and  becomes  presently 
the  dispenser  of  lager  bier,  or  a  forager  "  mit  Sigel." 

There  is  then  no  American  class  of  farm  workers 
in  the  market  —  certainly  not  in  the  Eastern  mar- 
kets. The  native,  if  he  possess  rural  instincts,  is 
engrossed,  as  I  have  said,  with  some  homestead  of 
his  own,  or  is  trying  his  seed-cast  among  the  Mor- 
mons, or  on  the  prairies.  All  other  parties  bring 
only  a  divided  allegiance,  and  a  kind  of  makeshift 
adhesion  to  the  business  ;  in  addition  to  which,  they 
bring  an  innocency  that  demands  the  supervision  of 
a  good  farm  teacher. 

Such  a  teacher  your  foreman  may  be,  or  he  may 
not  be  ;  if  the  latter,  and  he  have  no  capacity  to  con- 
vert into  available  workers,  such  motley  materials, 
the  sooner  you  discharge  him  the  better ;  but  if  he 
have  this  capacity,  and  is,  besides,  so  far  cognizant 
of  your  ownership,  as  not  to  take  offence  at  your 
presence,  and  to  permit  of  your  suggestions  —  cher- 
ish him  ;  he  has  rare  virtues. 

From  the  hints  I  have  already  dropped  in  regard 
to  the  qualities  and  characteristics  of  the  available 
"milkmaids"  and  ploughmen,  it  will  naturally  be 
inferred  that  I  would  not  be  anxious  to  entertain  a 
large  squad  of  such,  under  the  low-browed  ceilings 
of  the  country  home  I  have  described. 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  83 

And  here  comes  under  observation  that  romanti- 
cism about  equality  of  condition  and  of  tastes,  which 
many  kindly  and  poetically-disposed  persons  are  in- 
clined to  engraft  upon  their  ideal  of  the  farm  life. 
There  is,  indeed,  a  current  misjudgment  on  this 
head,  which  is  quite  common,  and  which  the  exag- 
gerated tone  of  rural  literature  generally,  from  Virgil 
down,  has  greatly  encouraged.  The  rural  writers 
dodge  all  the  dirty  work  of  the  farm,  and  regale  us 
with  the  odors  of  the  new-mown  hay.  The  plain 
truth  is,  however,  that  if  a  man  perspires  largely  in 
a  cornfield  of  a  dusty  day,  and  washes  hastily  in  the 
horse  trough,  and  eats  in  shirt  sleeves  that  date  their 
cleanliness  three  days  back,  and  loves  fat  pork  and 
cabbage  "neat,"  he  will  not  prove  the  Arcadian  com- 
panion at  dinner,  which  readers  of  Somerville  im- 
agine, —  neither  on  the  score  of  conversation,  or  of 
transpiration.  Active,  every-day  farm  labor  is  cer- 
tainly not  congruous  with  a  great  many  of  those 
cleanly  prejudices  which  grow  out  of  the  refinements 
of  civilization.  We  must  face  the  bald  truth  in  this 
matter  ;  a  man  who  has  only  an  hour  to  his  nooning, 
will  not  squander  it  upon  toilet  labors  ;  and  a  long 
day  of  close  field-work  leaves  one  in  very  unfit  mood 
for  appreciative  study  of  either  poetry  or  the  natural 
sciences. 

The  pastoral  idea,  —  set  off  with  fancies  of  earthen 


84  MY  FARM. 

bowls,  tables  under  trees,  and  appetites  that  are 
sated  with  bread  and  milk,  or  crushed  berries  and 
sugar,  and  with  the  kindred  fancies  of  rural  swains, 
who  can  do  a  good  day's  work  and  keep  their  linen 
clean,  — is  all  a  most  wretched  phantasm.  Pork,  and 
cabbage,  and  dirty  wristbands,  are  the  facts. 

Plainly,  the  milkmaids  must  have  a  home  to  them- 
selves, where  no  dreary  etiquette  shall  oppress  them. 
This  home,  which  is  properly  the  farmer's,  lies  some 
eighth  of  a  mile  southward,  upon  the  same  highway 
that  passes  my  door.  For  a  few  rods  the  road  keeps 
upon  a  gravelly  ridge,  from  which,  eastward,  stretches 
away  the  wide-reaching  view  I  have  already  noted  ; 
and  westward,  in  as  full  sight,  is  the  little  valley 
lawn,  where  the  shadows  of  the  copses  lie  splintered 
on  the  green.  So  it  is,  for  a  breathing  space  of  level ; 
then  the  gravelly  road  makes  sudden  plunge  under 
a  thicket  of  trees ;  a  rustic  culvert  is  crossed,  which 
is  the  wasteway  of  the  pool  at  the  foot  of  the  lawn  ; 
and  opposite  on  a  gentle  lift  of  turf,  all  overshad- 
owed with  trees,  is  the  farmery.  Here,  as  before 
described,  were  outlying  sheds,  and  leaning  gables, 
and  a  wreck  of  castaway  ploughs  and  carts ;  and  the 
scene  alive  with  the  cluck  of  matronly  hens,  conduct- 
ing broods  of  gleesorne  chickens,  and  with  the  side- 
long waddle  of  a  bevy  of  ducks.  I  have  a  recollec- 
tion, too,  of  certain  long-necked  turkeys,  who  eyed 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  85 

me  curiously  on  my  first  visit,  with  an  oblique  twist 
of  their  heads,  and  of  a  red-tasselled  Tom,  who 
sounded  a  gobble  of  alarm,  as  I  marched  upon  the 
premises,  and  met  me  with  a  formidable  strut. 
These  birds  are  very  human.  I  never  go  to  the  town 
but  I  see  men  who  remind  me  of  the  gobblers  ;  and 
I  never  see  my  gobblers  but  they  remind  me  pleas- 
antly of  men  in  the  town. 

Immediately  beyond  the  gates,  which  opened  upon 
the  farmery,  was  a  quaint  square  box  of  red  trimmed 
off  with  white  (whose  old-fashioned  coloring  I  main- 
tain), being  a  tenant  house  of  most  venerable  age, 
and  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  wild  and  ragged 
garden.  The  road  has  made  two  easy  curves  up  to 
this  point,  and  skirts  a  great  hill  that  rises  boldly  on 
the  right ;  on  the  left,  and  beyond  the  red  tenant 
house  with  its  clustering  lilacs,  and  shading  maples, 
is  a  mossy  orchard  ;  and  with  the  mossy  orchard  on 
the  left,  and  the  sudden  hills  piling  to  the  right,  the 
border  of  the  land  is  reached. 

The  wooden  farmhouse,  which  lay  so  quietly 
under  the  trees,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  when  I  first 
saw  the  place,  is  long  since  burned  and  gone.  It 
was  the  old  story  of  ashes  in  a  wooden  kit  —  very 
lively  ashes,  that  one  night  kindled  the  kit,  and 
thence  spread  to  the  shed,  and  in  a  moment  half  the 
house  was  in  flame.  It  was  a  picturesque  sight  from 


86  MY  FARM. 

my  window  on  the  bill ;  but  not  a  pleasant  one.  A 
wild,  sweeping,  gallant  blaze,  that  wrapped  old 
powder-post  timbers  in  its  roar,  and  licked  through 
crashing  sashes,  and  came  crinkling  through  the 
roof  in  a  hundred  wilful  jets,  and  then  lashed  and 
overlaid  the  whole  with  a  tent  of  vermilion,  above 
which  there  streamed  into  the  night  great,  yellow, 
swaying  pennants  of  flame.  But  the  burnt  house  is 
long  since  replaced  by  another.  It  would  have  been 
a  simple  and  easy  task  to  restore  it  as  before  ;  a  few 
loads  of  lumber,  the  scheme  of  some  country  joiner, 
and  the  thing  were  done.  But  I  was  anxious  to  de- 
termine by  actual  trial  how  far  the  materials  which 
nature  had  provided  on  the  farm  itself,  could  be 
made  available. 

The  needed  timber  could,  of  course,  be  readily 
obtained  from  the  farm  wood ;  and  from  the  same 
source  might  also  be  derived  the  saw  logs  for  ex- 
terior covering.  But  from  the  fact  that  pine  is  very 
much  more  suitable  and  durable  for  cover,  than  the 
ordinary  timber  of  New  England  woods,  the  economy 
of  such  a  procedure  would  be  very  doubtful ;  nor 
would  it  demonstrate  so  palpably  and  unmistakably, 
as  I  was  desirous  of  doing,  that  the  building  was  of 
home  growth.  I  had  seen  very  charming  little  farm- 
houses on  the  Downs  of  Hampshire,  made  almost 
entirely  from  the  flints  of  the  neighboring  chalkbeds ; 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  87 

and  in  Cumberland  and  Westmoreland  very  substan- 
tial and  serviceable  cottages  are  built  out  of  the 
rudest  stones,  the  farm  laborers  assisting  in  the 
work.  Now,  there  were,  scattered  along  the  road- 
side, as  along  most  countiy  roadsides  of  New  Eng- 
land a  great  quantity  of  small,  ill-shapen  stones, 
drawn  thither  in  past  years  from  the  fields,  and  serv- 
ing only  as  the  breeding  ground  for  pestilent  briers. 
These  stones  I  determined  to  convert  into  a  cottage. 

Of  course,  if  such  an  experiment  should  involve  a 
cost  largely  exceeding  that  of  a  simple  wooden  house 
of  ordinary  construction,  its  value  would  be  partially 
negatived ;  since  I  was  particularly  anxious  to  de- 
monstrate not  only  the  possibility  of  employing  the 
humblest  materials  at  hand,  but  also  of  securing 
durability  and  picturesqueness  in  conjunction  with 
a  rigid  economy. 

I  need  not  say  to  any  one  who  has  attempted  a 
similar  task,  that  the  builders  discouraged  me  :  the 
stones  were  too  round  or  too  small ;  they  had  no 
face  ;  but  I  insisted  upon  my  plan  —  only  yielding 
the  use  of  bricks  for  the  corners,  and  for  the  window 
jambs. 

I  further  insisted  that  no  stone  should  be  touched 
with  a  hammer ;  and  that,  so  far  as  feasible,  the 
mossy  or  weather  sides  of  the  stones  should  be  ex- 
posed. The  cementing  material  was  simple  mortar, 


88  MY  FARM. 

made  of  shell  lime  and  sharp  sand  ;  the  only  excep- 
tion being  one  course  of  five  or  six  inches  in  depth, 
laid  in  water  cement,  six  inches  above  the  ground, 
and  intended  to  prevent  the  ascent  of  moisture 
through  the  mason  work.  The  house  walls  were  of 
the  uniform  height  of  ten  feet,  covered  with  a  roof 
of  sharp  pitch.  The  gables  were  carried  up  with 
plank  laid  on  vertically,  and  thoroughly  battened  ; 
and  to  give  picturesque  effect  as  well  as  added  space 
upon  the  garret  floor,  the  gables  overhang  the  walls 
by  the  space  of  a  foot,  and  are  supported  by  the 
projecting  floor  beams,  which  are  rounded  at  their  . 
ends,  but  otherwise  left  rough.  This  feature,  as 
well  as  the  sharp  pent  roof,  was  an  English  one,  and 
a  pleasant  reminder  of  old  houses  I  had  seen  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Gloucester. 

To  avoid  the  expense  of  a  great  number  of  win- 
dow jambs,  which,  being  of  brick,  were  not  of  home 
origin,  I  conceived  the  idea  of  throwing  two  or  three 
windows  into  one  ;  thus  giving,  for  purely  economic 
reasons,  a  certain  Swiss  aspect  to  the  building,  and 
a  pleasant  souvenir  of  a  sunny  Sunday  in  Meyringen. 
These  broad  windows,  it  must  be  observed,  have  no 
cumbrous  lintels  of  stone  —  for  none  such  were  to 
be  found  upon  the  farm  ;  but  the  superincumbent 
wall  is  supported  by  stanch  timbers  of  oak,  and 
these  disguised  or  concealed  by  little  protecting 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  89 

rooflets  of  plank.  Thus  far,  simple  economy  gov- 
erned every  part  of  the  design ;  but  to  give  increased 
architectural  effect,  as  well  as  comfort,  a  porch,  with 
peak  corresponding  in  shape  to  the  gable,  was 
thrown  out  over  the  principal  door  to  the  south ; 
and  this  porch  was  constructed  entirely,  saving  its 
roof,  of  cedar  unstripped  of  its  bark.  If  it  has  not 
been  removed,  there  is  a  parsonage  house  at  Amble- 
side  in  the  lake  country  of  "Westmoreland,  which 
shows  very  much  such  another,  even  to  the  diamond 
loophole  in  its  peak. 

Again,  the  chimneys,  of  which  there  are  two,  in- 
stead of  being  completed  in  staring  red,  were  carried 
up  in  alternate  checkers  of  cobbles  and  brick,  the 
whole  surmounted  by  a  projecting  coping  of  mossy 
stones.  In  view  of  the  fact  that  this  architectural 
device  demanded  dexterous  handling,  I  cannot  al- 
lege its  economy  ;  but  its  extra  cost  was  so  trifling, 
and  its  pleasant  juxtaposition  of  tints  was  so  sugges- 
tive of  the  particolored  devices  that  I  had  seen  on 
the  country  houses  of  Lombardy,  that  the  chimneys 
have  become  cheap  little  monuments  of  loiterings  in 
Italy. 

The  plank  of  the  gables,  wholly  unplaned,  has 
been  painted  a  neutral  tint  to  harmonize  with  the 
stone,  and  the  battens  are  white,  to  accord  with  the 
lines  of  mortar  in  the  wall  below  ;  the  commingled 


90  MY  FARM. 

brick  and  stone  of  the  bouse,  are  repeated  in  the 
chimneys  above  ;  the  roof  has  now  taken  on  a  gray 
tint;  the  lichens  are  fast  forming  on  the  lower 
stones  ;  a  few  vines,  —  the  Virginia  creeper  chief est 
(Ampelopsis  Hederacea),  —  are  fastening  into  the 
crevices,  making  wreaths  about  the  windows  all  the 
summer  through,  and  in  autumn  hang  flaming  on 
the  wall.  There  is  a  May  crimson,  too,  from  the 
rose-bushes  that  are  trailed  upon  the  porch.  It  is  all 
heavily  shaded  ;  a  long,  low  wall  of  gray,  lighted 
with  red-bordered  embrasures,  taking  mellowness 
from  every  added  year ;  there  are  no  blinds  to  re- 
pair ;  there  is  but  little  paint  to  renew  ;  it  is  warm 
in  winter  ;  it  is  cool  in  summer  ;  vines  cling  to  it 
kindly  ;  the  lichens  love  it ;  I  would  not  replace  its 
homeliness  with  the  jauntiest  green-blinded  house 
in  the  country. 

Of  course  so  anomalous  a  structure  called  out  the 
witticisms  of  my  country  neighbors.  "  Was  it  a 
blacksmith's  shop  ?  "  "  Was  it  a  saw  mill  ?  "  and  with 
a  loud  appreciatory  "  guffaw  "  the  critics  pass  by. 

Our  country  tastes  are  as  yet  very  ambitious ; 
homeliness  and  simplicity  are  not  appetizing  enough. 
But  in  time  we  shall  ripen  into  a  wholesome  severity, 
in  this  matter.  I  am  gratified  to  perceive  that  the 
harshest  observers  of  my  poor  cottage  in  the  begin- 
ning, have  now  come  to  regard  it  with  a  kindly  in- 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  91 

terest.  It  mates  so  fairly  with  the  landscape,  —  it 
mates  so  fairly  with  its  purpose  ;  it  is  so  resolutely 
unpretending,  and  carries  such  air  of  permanence 
and  durability,  that  it  wins  and  has  won  upon  the 
most  arrant  doubters. 

The  country  neighbors  were  inclined  to  look  upon 
the  affair  as  a  piece  of  stupidity,  not  comparable 
with  a  fine  white  house,  set  off  by  cupola,  and  green 
blinds.  But  it  was  presently  observed  that  culti- 
vated people  from  the  town,  in  driving  past,  halted 
for  a  better  view ;  the  halts  became  frequent ;  it  was 
intimated  that  So-and-so,  of  high  repute,  absolutely 
admired  the  homeliness.  Whereupon  the  country- 
critics  undertook  an  inquiry  into  the  causes  of  their 
distaste,  and  queried  if  their  judgment  might  not 
have  need  of  revision.  Did  their  opinion  spring 
from  a  discerning  measurement  of  the  real  fitness  of 
a  country  house,  or  out  of  a  cherished  and  traditional 
regard  for  white  and  green  ? 

The  final  question,  however,  in  regard  to  it,  as  a 
matter  of  practical  interest,  is  one  of  economy.  Can 
a  house  of  the  homely  material  and  character  de- 
scribed be  built  cheaply  ?  Unquestionably.  In  my 
own  case  the  cost  of  a  cottage  fifty  feet  by  twenty-six, 
and  with  ten-feet  walls  —  containing  five  serviceable 
rooms,  besides  closets  on  its  main  floor,  and  two 
large  chambers  of  good  height  under  the  roof,  as 


92  MY  FARM. 

well  as  dairy  room  in  the  east  end  of  the  cellar  — 
was  between  eleven  and  twelve  hundred  dollars. 
The  estimates  given  me  for  a  wooden  house,  of  the 
stereotyped  aspect  and  similar  dimensions,  were 
within  a  few  dollars  of  the  same  sum. 

It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  any  novelty 
of  construction  in  a  particular  district,  costs  by  rea- 
son of  its  novelty  ;  the  stone  mason  charges  for  the 
possible  difficulties  of  overcoming  his  inexperience 
in  the  material.  The  carpenter  rates  the  rough  join- 
ing at  the  same  figure  with  the  old  mouldings  and 
finishing  boards  to  which  he  is  accustomed,  and  of 
which  he  may  have  a  stock  on  hand.  Yet,  notwith- 
standing these  drawbacks,  the  work  was  accom- 
plished within  the  limits  of  cost  which  the  most 
economic  would  have  reckoned  essential  to  a  build- 
ing of  equal  capacity. 

It  is  further  to  be  considered  that  while  I  paid 
skilful  masons  for  this  rough  work  the  same  price 
which  they  exacted  for  the  nice  work  of  cities,  it 
would  have  been  quite  possible  for  an  intelligent 
proprietor  to  commit  very  much  of  it  to  an  ordinary 
farm  laborer,  and  so  reduce  the  cost  by  at  least  one 
third. 

I  have  dwelt  at  length  upon  this  little  architectu- 
ral experience,  because  I  believe  that  such  meagre 
details  of  construction  as  I  have  given  may  be  of 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  93 

service  to  those  having  occasion  to  erect  similar  ten- 
ant houses ;  and  again,  because  in  view  of  the  fact 
that  we  must  in  time  have  a  race  of  farm  laborers 
among  us,  who  shall  also  be  householders,  I  count 
it  a  duty  to  make  such  use  of  the  homely  materials 
at  hand,  as  shall  insure  durability  and  comfort,  while 
the  simplicity  of  detail  will  allow  the  owner  to  avail 
himself  of  his  own  labor  and  ingenuity  in  the  con- 
struction. 

A  Sunny  Frontage. 

OJUCH  a  farmhouse  as  I  have  described,  should 
^-'  have,  in  all  northern  latitudes,  a  sheltered  posi- 
tion and  a  sunny  exposure.  Of  course,  a  situation 
convenient  to  the  fields  under  tillage,  and  to  other 
farm  buildings,  is  to  be  sought ;  but  beyond  this,  no 
law  of  propriety,  of  good  taste,  or  of  comfort,  is 
more  imperative  than  shelter  from  bleak  winds,  and 
a  frontage  to  the  south.  No  neighbor  can  bring  such 
cheer  to  a  man's  doorstep  as  the  sun. 

There  are  absurd  ideas  afloat  in  regard  to  the 
front,  and  back  side  of  a  house,  which  infect  village 
morals  and  manners  in  a  most  base  and  unmeaning 
way.  In  half  the  country  towns,  and  by  half  the 
farmers,  it  is  considered  necessary  to  retain  a  pre- 
tending front-side  upon  some  dusty  street  or  high- 


94  MY  FARM. 

way,  with  tightly  closed  blinds  and  bolted  door ; 
with  parlors  only  ventured  upon  in  an  uneasy  way 
from  month  to  month,  to  consult  some  gilt-bound 
dictionary,  or  Museum,  that  lies  there  in  state,  like 
a  king's  coffin.  The  occupant^  meantime,  will  be 
living  in  some  back  corner,  —  slipping  in  and  out  at 
back  doors,  never  at  ease  save  in  his  most  uninviting 
room,  and  as  much  a  stranger  to  the  blinded  parlor, 
which  very  likely  engrosses  the  best  half  of  his 
house,  as  his  visitor,  the  country  parson.  All  this 
is  as  arrant  a  sham,  and  affectation,  as  the  worst 
ones  of  the  cities. 

It  is  true  that  every  man  will  wish  to  set  aside  a 
certain  portion  of  his  house  for  the  offices  of  hospi- 
tality. But  the  easy  and  familiar  hospitalities  of  a 
country  village,  or  of  the  farmer,  do  not  call  for  any 
exceptional  stateliness ;  the  farmer  invites  his  best 
friends  to  his  habitual  living  room ;  let  him  see  to 
it  then  that  his  living  room  be  the  sunniest,  and 
most  cheerful  of  his  house.  So,  his  friends  will  come 
to  love  it,  and  he,  and  his  children  —  to  love  it  and 
to  cherish  it,  so  that  it  shall  be  the  rallying  point  of 
the  household  affections  through  all  time.  No  sea 
so  distant,  but  the  memory  of  a  cheery,  sunlit  home- 
room, with  its  pictures  on  the  wall,  and  its  flame 
upon  the  hearth,  shall  haunt  the  voyager's  thought ; 
and  the  flame  upon  the  hearth,  and  the  sunlit  win- 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  95 

dow,  will  pave  a  white  path  over  the  intervening 
waters,  where  tenderest  fancies,  like  angels,  shall 
come  and  go.  No  soldier,  wounded  on  these  battle- 
fields of  ours,  and  feeling  the  mists  of  death  gather- 
ing round  him,  but  will  call  back  with  a  gushing 
fondness  such  glimpse  of  a  cheery  and  cherished 
hearthstone,  and  feel  hope  and  heart  lighted  by  the 
vision  —  bringing  to  his  last  hold  on  earth  his  most 
hallowed  memories  ;  and  so,  binding  by  the  tenderest 
of  links,  the  heartiest  of  the  Old  life,  to  the  bloody 
dawn  of  the  New. 

There  is  a  deeper  philosophy  in  this  than  may  at 
first  sight  appear.  Who  shall  tell  us  how  many  a 
breakdown  of  a  wayward  son,  is  traceable  to  the 
cheerless  aspect  of  his  own  home,  and  fireside  ? 
"*  But  just  now  I  am  no  moralist  —  only  house- 
builder.  In  the  farm  cottage,  whose  principal  feat- 
ures I  have  detailed,  I  have  given  fifty  feet  of  front- 
age to  the  south,  and  only  the  gable  end,  with  its 
windows,  to  the  street.  As  I  enter  the  white  wicket 
by  the  corner,  under  the  elm  tree  which  bowers  it, 
the  distribution  counts  thus :  a  miniature  parlor 
with  its  lookout  to  the  street,  and  a  broad  window 
to  the  south  ;  next  is  the  rustic  porch,  and  a  door 
opening  upon  the  hall ;  next,  a  broad  living-room  or 
kitchen,  with  its  generous  chimney,  and  this  flanked 
by  a  wash  room,  or  scullery,  from  which  a  second 


96  MY  FARM. 

outer  door  opens  upon  the  southern  front.  To  this 
latter  door,  which  may  have  its  show  of  tubs,  tins, 
and  drying  mops,  a  screen  of  shrubbery  gives  all 
needed  privacy  from  the  street,  and  separates  by  a 
wall  of  flowering  things  from  the  modest  pretensions 
of  the  entrance  by  the  porch.  At  least,  such  was  an 
available  part  of  the  design.  If  the  good  woman's 
poultry,  loving  so  sunny  a  spot,  will  worry  away  the 
rootlets  of  the  lower  flowering  shrubs,  and  leave  only 
a  tree  or  two  for  screen,  it  is  an  arrangement  of  the 
leafy  furniture,  over  which  the  successive  occupants 
have  entire  control.  The  noticeable  fact  is,  that  the 
best  face  of  the  cottage,  and  its  most  serviceable 
openings,  whether  of  window  or  door,  are  given  to 
the  full  flow  of  the  sun,  and  not  to  the  roadside. 
What  is  the  road  indeed,  but  a  convenience  ?  Why 
build  at  it,  or  toward  it,  as  if  it  were  sovereign,  or  as 
if  we  owed  it  a  duty  or  a  reverence  ?  We  owe  it 
none  ;  indeed,  under  the  ordering  of  most  highway  . 
surveyors,  we  owe  it  only  contempt.  But  the  path 
of  the  sun,  and  of  the  seasons,  is  of  God's  ordering ; 
and  a  south  window  will  print  on  every  winter's 
morning  a  golden  prayer  upon  the  floor ;  and  every 
summer's  morning  the  birds  and  bees  will  repeat  it, 
among  the  flowers  at  the  southern  door. 


Los  Angeles,  Cai, 
TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  97 


Farm  Buildings. 

"1  TAYING  looked  after  the  farm  cottage,  I  come 
—  now  to  speak  of  the  equally  homely  subject  of 
barns  and  outbuildings.  Of  these,  such  as  they 
were,  I  found  abundance  upon  the  premises,  stand- 
ing at  all  imaginable  angles,  and  showing  that  ex- 
traordinary confusion  of  arrangement  for  which 
many  of  our  old-fashioned  farmers  have  a  wonderful 
aptitude.  Should  they  all  be  swept  away,  and  a  new 
company  of  buildings  erected  ?  The  stanch  timbers 
and  the  serviceable  condition  of  many  of  them  for- 
bade this,  as  well  as  considerations  of  prudence. 
Besides  which,  I  have  no  admiration  for  that  incon- 
gruity which  often  appears  at  the  hands  of  those 
who  are  suddenly  smitten  with  a  love  for  the  country 
—  of  expensive  and  jaunty  farm  architecture  in  con- 
trast with  a  dilapidated  farm.  I  believe  in  a  well- 
conditioned  harmony  between  farm  products  and 
the  roofs  that  shelter  them,  and  that  both  should 
gain  extent  and  fulness,  by  orderly  progression.  It 
has  chanced  to  me  to  see  here  and  there  through 
the  country  very  admirable  appliances  of  machinery 
and  buildings,  which,  on  the  score  of  both  cost  and 
needfulness,  were  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  fer- 
7 


98  MY  FARM. 

tility  and  the  order  of  the  fields.  I  see,  too,  not  un- 
frequently,  very  showy  palings  in  the  neighborhood 
of  a  country  house,  which  are  flanked  by  the  craziest 
of  slatternly  fences  ;  whereat  it  always  occurs  to  me, 
that  the  expenditure  would  be  far  better  distributed 
in  giving  a  general  neatness  and  effectiveness  to  oil 
the  enclosures,  rather  than  lavished  upon  a  little 
spurt  of  white  splendor  about  the  house.  A  fertility 
too  gross  for  the  buildings,  so  as  to  bubble  over  in 
ricks  and  temporary  appliances,  is  to  me  a  far  more 
cheery  sight  agriculturally,  than  buildings  so  grand 
as  utterly  to  outmatch  and  overshadow  all  productive 
capacity  of  the  land.  A  kernel  too  big  for  the  nut, 
promises  to  my  taste  a  better  relish  than  a  nut  too 
big  for  the  kernel. 

These  seem  to  me,  at  the  worst,  very  plausible 
reasons,  if  there  had  been  no  final,  prudential  ones, 
for  making  the  best  of  the  old  buildings  at  hand  — 
by  re-arrangement,  new  grouping,  and  by  shutting 
up  such  gaps  between  the  disjointed  parts,  as  should 
reduce  the  whole  to  a  quadrangular  order,  and  offer 
sunny  courts  for  the  cattle. 

If  a  sunny  exposure,  and  grateful  shelter  from 
harsh  winds  be  good  for  the  temper  of  the  farm  wife 
and  her  household,  they  are  even  better  for  all  the 
grosser  domestic  animals  ;  and  it  is  an  imperative 
condition  of  the  arrangement  of  all  farm  buildings 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND,  99 

in  our  climate  that  they  offer  a  sheltering  lee,  and 
have  their  principal  openings,  specially  of  windows, 
to  the  south.  Protection  against  summer  heats,  if 
needed  for  stalled  animals,  it  is  easy  to  supply  ;  but 
an  equivalent  for  the  warmth  of  the  winter's  sun,  I 
know  no  name  for. 

Another  condition  of  all  judicious  arrangement, 
which  is  even  more  important,  is  such  disposition 
of  the  yards  and  cellars,  as  shall  prevent  all  waste  of 
manurial  resources  of  whatever  kind,  whether  by 
undue  exposure,  or  by  leakage,  And  in  this  connec- 
tion, I  may  mention  that  it  is  a  question  seriously 
mooted,  and  worthy  of  full  investigation  —  if  the 
fertilizing  material  of  a  farm  will  not  warrant  special 
shelter  as  fully  as  the  crops.  All  experience  cer- 
tainly confirms  the  fact  that  such  as  is  taken  from 
under  cover,  provided  only  the  moisture  is  sufficient, 
is  worth  the  double  of  that  which  has  been  exposed 
to  storms.  What  chemical  laws  relating  to  agricul- 
ture confirm  this  fact,  I  may  have  occasion  to  speak 
of  in  another  chapter  ;  at  present  I  note  only  the 
results  of  practical  observation,  without  reference  to 
underlying  causes. 

The  books  would  have  recommended  me  to  con- 
struct an  expensive  tank,  to  which  drains  should  con- 
duct all  the  wash  from  the  courts  and  stables.  But 
this  would  involve  water  carts,  and  other  appliances, 


ioo  MY  FARM. 

liable  to  injury  under  rough  handling — besides  de- 
manding a  nicety  of  tillage,  and  a  regularity  of  dis- 
tribution which,  at  first,  could  not  be  depended  on. 
That  the  liquid  form  is  the  one,  under  which  manu- 
rial  material  under  a  complete  system  of  culture, 
will  work  the  most  magical  results,  I  have  no  doubt. 
But  until  that  system  is  reached,  very  much  can  be 
done  in  the  way  of  economizing  the  f  ertilizing  elements 
of  the  farmyard,  short  of  the  tank  and  the  water  cart ; 
and  this  by  modes  so  simple,  and  at  an  expense  so 
small,  as  to  be  within  the  reach  of  every  farmer. 

Let  me  illustrate,  in  the  plainest  possible  manner, 
by  my  own  experience.  The  barn,  as  I  have  said, 
was  slatternly ;  it  had  yielded  a  little  to  the  pinch- 
ing northwesters,  and  by  a  list  (as  seamen  say)  to 
the  southeast,  gave  threat  of  tumbling  upon  the 
cattle  yard.  This  yard  lay  easterly  and  southerly, 
in  a  ragged,  stony  slope,  ending  on  its  eastern  edge 
with  a  quagmire,  which  was  fed  by  the  joint  wash  of 
the  yard  and  the  leakage  of  a  water  trough  supplied 
from  a  spring  upon  the  hills.  The  flow  from  this 
quagmire,  unctuous  and  fattening,  slid  away  down 
a  long  slope  into  the  meadow,  —  at  first  so  strong, 
as  to  forbid  all  growth  ;  then  feeding  an  army  of 
gigantic  docks  and  burdocks  ;  and  after  this  giving 
luxuriant  growth  to  a  perch  or  two  of  stout  English 
grass.  But  it  was  a  waste  of  wealth  ;  it  was  like  a 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  101 

private,  staggering  under  the  rations  of  a  major- 
general.  I  cut  off  the  rations.  With  the  stones 
which  were  in  and  about  the  yard,  I  converted  its 
lazy  slope  into  two  level  courts ;  and  so  arranged 
the  surface,  that  the  flow  from  the  upper  should 
traverse  the  lower  one  ;  from  which,  in  turn,  the 
joint  flow  of  fertilizing  material  fell  through  a  few 
tiles  in  the  lower  terrace  wall,  upon  the  head  of  a 
long  heap  of  compost,  which  was  ordered  to  be  al- 
ways replaced,  as  soon  as  removed.  The  leakage  of 
the  water  trough  being  cured,  its  overflow  was  con- 
ducted to  the  pasture  below,  where  the  second  over- 
flow, —  for  the  stream  was  constantly  running,  — 
would  do  no  injury,  and  would  be  available  as  a 
foraging  mudpool  for  the  ducks.  By  this  simple 
re-adjustment  of  surface,  and  of  the  water  flow,  I 
have  no  question  but  I  fully  doubled  the  yearly  value 
of  the  manures. 

I  still  further  mended  matters  by  carrying  the 
cow  stables  along  all  the  northern  frontier  of  the 
yard,  in  such  sort  as  to  afford  an  ample  sunny  lee  ; 
and  extending  this  new  pile  of  building  over  the 
eastern  terrace  wall,  I  gained  an  open  cellar  below 
for  my  store  pigs,  who  range  over  the  ground  where 
the  burdocks  so  thrived  before,  with  occasional  fur- 
tive examination  of  the  compost  heap  which  receives 
the  flow  from  above. 


102  MY  FARM. 

I  do  not  name  this  disposition  of  buildings  and  of 
surfaces,  as  one  to  be  copied,  or  as  the  one  which  I 
should  have  chosen  to  make,  in  the  event  of  a  thor- 
ough reconstruction  ;  but  only  as  one  of  those  sim- 
ple, feasible  improvements  of  the  old  conditions 
which  are  met  with  everywhere  ;  improvements, 
moreover,  which  involve  little  or  no  cost,  beyond  the 
farmer's  own  labor,  and  no  commitment  to  the  theo- 
ries of  Mechi  or  of  Liebig.  A  ragged-coated  man 
should  be  grateful  for  a  tight  bit  of  linsey-woolsey 
to  his  back,  until  such  time  as  he  comes  to  the  dig- 
nity of  broadcloth. 

Four-fifths  of  those  who  undertake  farming,  — 
not  as  an  amusement  or  simply  as  an  occupation,  but 
as  the  business  of  their  life,  and  upon  whom  we  are 
dependent  for  our  potatoes,  veal,  and  cider  (to  say 
nothing  more),  —  are  compelled  to  do  the  best  they 
can  with  existing  buildings  ;  and  Stephens'  plans  of 
a  "  farmsteading "  are  as  much  Greek  to  them,  as 
the  "  Works  and  Days  "  of  Hesiod.  A  hint,  there- 
fore, of  judicious  adaptation  of  old  buildings,  may 
be  all  they  can  digest  with  that  practical  relish  with 
which  a  man  accepts  suggestions  that  are  within  the 
compass  of  his  means  and  necessities. 

Again,  the  British  or  Continental  needs  in  the 
matter  of  farm  constructions,  are  totally  different 
from  American  need,  in  all  northern  latitudes.  The 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  103 

British  farmer  can  graze  his  turnips  into  January  ; 
and  I  have  seen  a  pretty  herd  of  Devon  cows  crop- 
ping a  fair  bite  of  grass,  under  the  lee  of  the  Devon 
Tors,  into  February.  We,  on  the  contrary,  have 
need  to  store  forage  for  at  least  six  months  in  the 
year.  Hay  begins  to  go  out  of  the  bays  with  the 
first  of  November  at  the  latest,  and  there  is  rarely  a 
good  bite  upon  the  pastures  until  the  tenth  of  May. 
For  this  reason  there  is  required  a  great  breadth  of 
barn  room. 

The  high  cost  of  labor,  too,  forbids  that  distribu- 
tion of  the  farm  offices  over  a  considerable  area  of 
surface,  which  is  characteristic  of  the  British  stead- 
ing. The  tall  buildings,  which  are  just  now  so  much 
in  vogue  with  enterprising  American  farmers,  sit- 
uated by  preference  upon  swiftly  sloping  land,  and 
giving  an  upper  floor  for  forage,  a  second  and  lower 
one  for  granary  and  cattle,  and  a  third  for  manure 
pit,  have  been  suggested  and  commended  chiefly  for 
their  great  economy  of  labor  ;  one  man  easily  caring 
for  a  herd,  under  these  conditions  of  lodgment, 
which  upon  the  old  system  would  demand  two  or 
three. 

Machinery,  too,  which  must  presently  come  to  do 
most  of  the  indoor  work  upon  a  well-managed  farm 
of  any  considerable  size,  will  require  for  its  effective 
service  compact  buildings. 


104  MY  FARM. 

Let  me  repeat  the  conditions  of  good  American 
barns.  They  must  suffice  for  ample  protection  of  the 
harvested  crops ;  ample  and  warm  shelter  for  the  ani- 
mals ;  security  against  waste  of  manurial  resources ; 
and  such  compactness  of  arrangement  as  shall  war- 
rant the  fullest  economy  of  labor.  With  these  ends 
reached,  they  may  be  old  or  new,  irregular  or  quad- 
rangular —  they  are  all  that  a  good  farmer  needs  in 
the  way  of  architecture,  to  command  success. 


The  Cattle. 

"  "TYT"HAT  sort  o'  cattle  d'ye  mean  to  keep, 
Squire  ? "  said  one  of  my  old-fashioned 
neighbors,  shortly  after  my  establishment  "  Squire  " 
used  to  be  the  New  England  title  for  whatever  man, 
not  a  clergyman  or  doctor,  indulged  in  the  luxury  of 
a  black  coat  occasionally,  upon  work  days.  But  in 
these  levelling  times,  I  am  sorry  to  perceive  that  it  is 
going  by  ;  and  I  only  wear  the  honor  now,  at  a  long 
distance  from  home,  in  the  "  up-country." 

To  return  to  the  cattle  ;  my  neighbor's  question 
was  a  pertinent  one.  Not  what  cattle  did  I  admire 
most,  or  what  cattle  I  thought  the  finest ;  but  what 
cattle  shall  I  keep  ? 

In  this,  as  in  the  matter  of  the  house,  of  the  out- 


TAKING  REINS  IN   HAND.  105 

buildings  and  of  the  roadway,  I  believe  thoroughly 
in  adaptation  to  ends  in  view.  If  I  had  been  under- 
taking the  business  of  a  cattle  breeder,  I  should 
have  sought  for  those  of  the  purest  blood,  of  what- 
ever name  ;  if  I  had  counted  upon  sales  to  the 
butcher,  my  choice  would  have  been  different ;  if, 
again,  butter  had  been  the  aim,  I  am  sure  I  should 
have  made  no  great  mistake  in  deciding  for  the  sleek 
Jersey  cattle.  But  for  mere  supply  of  milk,  under 
ordinary  conditions  of  feeding,  I  do  not  know  that 
any  breed  has  as  yet  established  an  unchallenged 
claim  to  the  front  rank.  The  Devons,  Ayrshires,  and 
Shorthorns  each  have  their  advocates  ;  for  the  lati- 
tude and  pasturage  of  New  England,  if  I  were  com- 
pelled to  choose  between  the  three,  I  should  certainly 
choose  the  Ayrshires  ;  but  I  am  satisfied  that  a  more 
successful  milk  dairy  can  be  secured  by  a  motley 
herd  of  natives,  half-bloods,  and  animals  of  good 
promise  for  the  pail,  than  by  limitation  of  stock  to 
any  one  breed.  I  am  confirmed  in  this  view  by  the 
examples  of  most  large  dairies  of  this  country,  as 
well  as  by  many  in  Great  Britain.  I  particularly 
remember  a  nice  little  herd  which  I  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  seeing,  some  years  since,  at  the  excellently 
managed  farm  of  Glas-Nevin  in  the  environs  of 
Dublin :  sleek  animals  all,  and  thoroughly  cared 
for  ;  but  showing  a  medley  of  races ;  the  queen 


lo6  M Y  FARM. 

milker  of  all  —  as  it  chanced  —  having  lineage  in 
which  the  Ayrshire,  the  Shorthorn  and  Devon  were 
all  blended. 

I  know  there  are  very  many  cattle  fanciers,  and 
stanch  committee  men,  who  will  not  approve  this 
method  of  talking  about  mixed  stables,  and  of  a 
medley  of  different  races,  —  as  if  a  farmer  were  at 
liberty  to  make  his  choice  of  cattle,  with  the  same 
coolness  with  which  he  would  make  his  choice  of 
ploughs  or  wagons,  and  to  tie  up  together,  if  the 
humor  takes  him,  animals  which  the  breeders  have 
been  keeping  religiously  apart  for  a  few  score  of 
years. 

But  I  do  not  share  in  this  punctiliousness.  I  be- 
lieve that  these  animals  all,  whether  of  the  Herd- 
book  or  out  of  it,  must  be  measured  at  last,  not  by 
their  pedigree  or  title,  but  by  their  fitness  for 
humble  farm  services.  A  family  name  may  be  a  good 
enough  test  of  any  animal  —  biped  or  other  —  from 
whom  we  look  for  no  particular  duty,  save  occasional 
exhibition  of  his  parts  before  public  assemblages ; 
but  when  our  exigencies  demand  special  and  impor- 
tant service,  we  are  apt  to  measure  fitness  by  some- 
thing more  intrinsic. 

The  cattle  breeders  are  unquestionably  doing 
great  benefit  to  the  agricultural  interests  of  the 
country ;  but  the  essential  distinction  between  the 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  107 

aims  of  the  breeder  and  fanner  should  not  be  lost 
sight  of.  The  first  seeks  to  develop,  under  the  best 
possible  conditions  of  food  and  shelter,  those  points 
in  the  animal  which  most  of  all  make  the  distinction 
of  the  race.  The  farmer  seeks  an  animal,  or  should, 
which  in  view  of  climate,  soil,  and  his  practice  of 
husbandry,  shall  return  him  the  largest  profit, 
whether  in  the  dairy,  under  the  yoke,  or  in  the 
shambles.  He  has  nothing  to  do  with  points,  but 
the  points  that  shall  meet  these  ends.  There  is  no 
reason  why  he  should  limit  himself  to  one  strain  of 
blood,  unless  that  strain  meets  and  fills  every  office 
of  his  farm  economy,  any  more  than  he  should 
narrow  his  poultry  range  to  peafowl,  or  to  golden 
pheasant. 

I  think  I  may  have  talked  somewhat  in  this  strain 
to  my  old  neighbor,  who  asked  after  the  "  squire's 
cattle  "  —  but  not  at  such  a  length  ;  and  I  think  that 
he  offered  some  such  corollary  as  this  : 

"  Squire,  them  English  cows  is  handsome  critturs 
enough  to  look  at ;  but  ye  have  to  keep  a  f ollerin'  on 
'em  up  with  a  meal  tub." 

It  is  very  easy  to  lay  down  a  charming  set  of  rules 
for  the  establishment  of  a  good  herd  (and  for  that 
matter  —  of  a  good  lif e)  ;  but  —  to  follow  them  ? 

I  will  be  bound  to  say  that  there  was  never  a  pret- 
tier flock  of  milch  cows  gathered  in  any  man's  stables 


108  MY  FARM. 

than  the  superior  one  which  I  conjured  up  in  my 
fancy,  after  an  imaginative  foray  about  the  neighbor- 
hood. But  it  was  not  easy  to  make  the  fancy  good. 
Mr.  Flint,  in  his  very  capital  book  upon  milch  cows 
and  dairy  farming,  gives  a  full  elucidation  of  that 
theory  of  M.  Guenon,  by  which  the  milking  proper- 
ties of  an  animal  can  be  determined  by  what  is  called 
the  escutcheon,  —  being  certain  natural  markings, 
around  the  udder  upon  the  inner  parts  of  the  thigha 
It  is  perhaps  needless  to  say,  that  such  minute  ob- 
servation as  would  alone  justify  a  decision  based 
upon  this  theory,  might  sometimes  prove  awkward, 
and  embarrassing.  Upon  the  whole,  I  should  coun- 
sel young  farmers  in  summer  clothing,  and  away 
from  home,  to  judge  of  a  cow  by  other  indicia. 

Still,  the  theory  of  M.  Guenon  *  has  its  value  ;  and 
I  am  persuaded  that  he  was  worthily  adjudged  the 
gold  medal  at  the  hands  of  the  Agricultural  Society 
of  Bordeaux.  But  with  this,  and  all  other  aids  — 
among  which  I  may  name  the  loose  preemptory  re- 
flections and  suggestions  of  certain  adjoining  farmers 
—  I  was  by  no  means  proud  of  the  appearance  of  the 
little  herd  of  twelve  or  fourteen  cows  with  which 
operations  were  to  commence. 

*  The  interested  agricultural  reader  may  consult ' '  Clioix  d(# 
Vacfies  Laitieres,  par  M.  Magne,  Paris,"  for  full  exhibit  of 
the  system. 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  109 

The  popular  belief,  that  all  jockey  ism  and  cheatery 
is  confined  to  horse  dealings,  is  too  limited.  Who- 
ever will  visit  the  cow  stables  in  Kobinson  street,  or 
near  to  Third  avenue,  upon  a  market  day,  may  ob- 
serve a  score  or  two  of  animals  with  painfully  dis- 
tended udders  (the  poor  brutes  have  not  been  milked 
in  the  last  forty-eight  hours),  throwing  appealing 
glances  about  the  enclosure,  and  eyeing  askance  cer- 
tain bullet-headed  calves,  which  are  tied  in  adjoining 
stalls,  but  which  have  no  more  claim  upon  the  ma- 
ternal instincts  of  the  elder  animals,  than  the  drovers 
themselves.  It  is  all  a  bald  fiction  ;  the  true  offspring 
have  gone  to  the  butchers  months  ago  ;  and  if  the 
poor,  surcharged  brutes  accept  of  the  offices  of  the 
little  staggering  foundlings,  it  is  with  a  weary  poke 
of  the  head,  that  is  damning  to  the  brutality  of  the 
drovers. 

It  would  be  too  much  to  say  that  I  have  never 
been  deceived  by  these  people  ;  too  much  to  say  that 
honest  old  gentlemen  of  innocent  proclivities  did 
never  pass  upon  me  certain  venerable  animals,  with 
the  tell-tale  wrinkles  rasped  out  of  their  horns.  One 
of  this  class,  of  a  really  creditable  figure,  high  hip 
bones,  heavy  quarters,  well  marked  milk  veins,  I  was 
incautious  enough  to  test  by  a  glance  into  her 
mouth.  Not  a  tooth  in  her  old  head. 

I  looked   accusingly  at    the   rural   owner,   who 


I  io  MY  FARM. 

was  quietly  cutting  a  notch  in  the  top  rail  of  his 
fence. 

"Waal,  yes — kind  o' rubbed  off;  but  she  bites 
pooty  well  with  her  gooms." 

Among  the  early  purchases,  and  among  the  ani- 
mals that  promised  well,  was  a  dun  cow,  which  it 
was  found  necessary,  after  a  few  weeks  of  full  feed- 
ing, to  cumber  with  a  complicated  piece  of  neck 
furniture,  to  forbid  her  filching  surreptitiously  what 
properly  belonged  to  the  pail.  Self-milkers  are  not 
profitable.  I  have  faith  in  the  doctrine  of  rotation, 
and  the  quick  reconversion  of  farm  products  into 
the  elements  of  new  growth.  But  here  was  a  case 
of  reconversion  so  rapid,  as  to  be  fatal  to  all  the 
laws  of  economy.  It  suggested  nothing  so  strongly, 
as  that  rapid  issue  of  government  money,  which 
finds  immediate  absorption  among  the  governmental 
officials.  Does  the  government  really  milk  itself ; 
and  can  no  preventive  be  found  in  the  way  of  neck 
machinery,  or  other  ? 

Another  animal  was  admirable  in  every  point  of 
view  ;  I  found  her  upon  one  of  the  North  River 
wharves,  and  the  perfect  outline  of  her  form  and 
high-bred  action,  induced  a  purchase,  even  at  a 
long  figure ;  but  the  beast  proved  an  inveterate 
kicker. 

The  books  recommend  gentleness  for  the  cure 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  in 

of  this  propensity  ;  so  does  humanity  ;  I  concurred 
with  both  in  suggesting  that  treatment  to  Patrick. 

"  Gintle  is  it  ?  And  bedad,  sir,  she's  too  ould  for 
a  cure.  I'm  thinking  we  must  tie  her  legs,  sir  ;  but 
if  ye  orders  it,  bedad,  it's  meself  can  be  gintle. 

"  Soh,  Moolly  —  soh  —  soh  (and  a  kick) ;  soh,  ye 
baste  (a  little  livelier),  soh  (and  a  kick)  —  soh,  blast 
ye  !  —  soh,  Moolly  —  son,  Katy  —  SOH  (and  a  crash) ; 
och,  you  ould  baste  ye  —  take  that ! "  and  there  is  a 
thud  of  the  milking  stool  in  the  ribs. 

The  "  gintleness  "  of  Patrick  is  unavailing.  But 
the  cow  is  an  excellent  animal,  and  not  to  be  hastily 
discarded.  Milker  after  milker  undertook  the  con- 
quest, but  with  no  better  success.  The  task  became 
the  measure  of  a  man's  long-suffering  disposition  ; 
some  gave  over,  and  lost  their  tempers  before  the 
first  trial  was  finished ;  others  conjured  down  the 
spirit  by  all  sorts  of  endearing  epithets,  and  tender- 
ness, until  the  conquest  seemed  almost  made ;  wh^en 
suddenly  pail,  stool,  and  man  would  lapse  together, 
and  a  stream  of  curses  carry  away  all  record  of  the 
tenderness.  We  came  back  at  last  to  Patrick's  origi- 
nal suggestion  ;  the  legs  must  be  tied.  A  short  bit 
of  thick  rope  passed  around  one  foot  and  loosely 
knotted,  then  passed  around  the  second  and  tied 
tightly  in  double  knot,  rendered  her  powerless. 
There  was  a  slight  struggle,  but  it  was  soon  at  an 


112  MY  FARM. 

end  ;  and  she  made  no  opposition  to  the  removal  of 
the  thong  after  the  milking  was  over.  With  this 
simple  provision,  the  trouble  was  all  done  away  ;  and 
for  a  whole  year  matters  went  well  But  after  this, 
there  came  a  reformer  into  control  of  the  dairy.  The 
rope  was  barbarous ;  he  didn't  believe  in  such 
things  ;  he  had  seen  kicking  cows  before.  A  little 
firmness  and  gentleness  would  accomplish  the  object 
better  ;  God  didn't  make  cows'  legs  to  be  tied.  The 
position  was  a  humane  one,  if  not  logical  And  the 
thong  was  discarded. 

"Well,  Patrick,"  said  I,  two  days  after,  "how 
fares  the  cow  ?  " 

"  And  begorra,  it's  the  same  ould  baste,  sir." 

A  few  days  later  I  inquired  again  after  the  new 
regimen  of  gentleness  and  firmness. 

"Begorra,"  said  Patrick,  "she's  kicked  him 
again ! " 

A  week  passed  ;  and  I  repeated  the  inquiriea 

"Begorra,  she's  kicked  him  again!"  screamed 
Patrick  ;  "  and  it's  a  divil's  own  bating  he's  been  giv- 
ing the  ould  baste." 

Sure  enough,  the  poor  cow  was  injured  sadly ; 
her  milking  days  were  over  ;  and  in  a  month  she 
went  to  the  butcher.  And  this  advocate  of  gentle- 
ness and  firmness  was  one  of  the  warmest  and  most 
impassioned  philanthropists  I  ever  met  with. 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  113 

The  moral  of  the  story  is,  —  if  a  cow  is  an  invet- 
erate kicker,  tie  her  legs  with  a  gentle  hand,  or  kill 
her.  Beating  will  never  cure,  whether  it  come  in 
successive  thuds,  or  in  an  explosive  outbreak  of  out- 
rageous violence.  I  suspect  that  the  same  ruling  is 
applicable  to  a  great  many  disorderly  members  of 
society. 

Although  the  cases  I  have  cited  were  exceptional, 
and  although  my  little  herd  had  its  quiet,  docile, 
profit-giving  representatives,  yet  I  cannot  say  that  it 
was  altogether  even  with  my  hopes  or  intentions. 

Two  stout  yoke  of  those  sleek  red  cattle,  for  which 
southern  New  England  is  famous,  had  their  part  to 
bear  in  the  farm  programme,  besides  a  sleek  young 
Alderney  bull,  and  a  pair  of  sturdy  horses.  There 
were  pigs  with  just  enough  of  the  Suffolk  blood  in 
them  to  give  a  shapely  outline,  and  not  so  much  as 
to  develop  that  red  scurfy  baldness,  which  is  to  my 
eye  rather  an  objectionable  feature  of  high  breeding 
and  feeding  —  whether  in  men  or  pigs. 

Ducks,  turkeys,  and  hens,  in  a  fluttering  brood, 
brought  up  the  rear.  With  these  all  safely  bestowed 
about  the  farm  buildings  which  I  have  briefly  indi- 
cated, and  with  a  rosy-nosed,  dapper  little  Somerset- 
shire man,  who  wore  his  tall  Sunday-beaver  with  a 
slight  cant  to  one  side,  established  as  lieutenant-gov- 
ernor in  the  cottage,  the  reins  seemed  fairly  in  hand. 


m. 

CROPS  AND  PROFITS. 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS. 


The  Hill  Land. 

~T)EFOBE  we  keep  company  farther  —  the  reader 
-*-^  and  I  —  let  me  spread  before  him,  as  well  as 
I  may,  a  map  of  the  farm  land.  I  may  describe  it, 
in  gross,  as  a  great  parallelogram,  intersected  by  the 
quiet  public  highway,  which  divides  it  into  two  great 
squares.  The  eastern  square  is,  for  the  most  part, 
as  level  as  the  carpet  on  my  library  floor,  and  its 
crops  make  checkers  like  the  figures  on  the  ingrain. 
The  eastern  half  is  toward  the  town  ;  and  upon  its 
edge,  by  the  highway,  are  the  farm  buildings  I  have 
grouped  around  the  stone  cottage.  The  western 
half  is  rolling ;  and  beyond  the  whitey-gray  farm- 
house, with  which  I  entered  upon  my  portraiture,  it 
heaves  up  into  a  great  billow  of  hill,  half  banded 
with  woodland,  and  half  green  with  pasture. 


n8  MY  FARM. 

This  billow  of  hill,  dipped  down  between  my  home 
and  the  stone  cottage,  into  a  little  valley,  which  I 
have  transmuted,  as  before  described,  into  a  lawn  of 
grass  land,  with  its  clumps  of  native  trees  and  flower- 
ing shrubs,  and  its  little  pool,  under  the  willows, 
that  receives  the  drainage.  Elsewhere,  beyond,  and 
higher,  the  surface  of  the  hill  was  scarred  with  stones 
of  all  shapes  and  sizes  ;  orderly  geology  would  have 
been  at  fault  amid  its  debris  ;  —  there  were  boulders 
of  trap,  with  clean  sharp  fissures  breaking  through 
them  ;  —  there  were  great  flat  fragments  of  gneiss 
covered  with  gray  lichens  ;  —  there  were  pure  gran- 
itic rocks  worn  round,  —  perhaps  by  the  play  of 
some  waves  that  have  been  hushed  these  thousand 
years ;  and  there  were  exceptional  fragments  of 
coarse  red  sandstone,  frittered  hah*  away  by  centu- 
ries of  rain,  and  leaving  protruding  pimples  of 
harder  pebbles.  In  short,  Professor  Johnston,  who 
advised  (in  Scotland)  the  determination  of  a  farm 
purchase  by  the  character  of  the  subjacent  and  ad- 
joining rocks,  would  have  been  at  fault  upon  my  hill- 
side. A  short  way  back,  amid  the  woods,  he  would 
have  found  a  huge  ridge  of  intractable  serpentine  ; 
the  boulders  he  would  have  discovered  to  be  of  most 
various  quality ;  and  if  he  had  dipped  his  spade, 
aided  by  a  pick,  he  would  have  found  a  yellow,  fer- 
ruginous conglomerate,  which  the  rains  convert  into 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  119 

a  mud  that  is  all  aflow,  and  which  the  suns  bake 
into  a  surface,  that  with  the  sharpest  of  mattocks 
would  start  a  flood  of  perspiration,  before  he  had 
combed  a  square  yard  of  it  into  a  state  of  garden 
pulverization. 

Lying  above  this,  however,  was  a  vegetable  mould, 
with  a  shiny  silicious  intermixture  (what  precise 
people  would  call  a  sandy  loam),  well  knitted  to- 
gether by  a  compact  mass  of  the  roots  of  myrtles, 
of  huckleberry  bushes,  and  of  ferns.  Geologically, 
the  hill  was  a  "  drift ;  "  agriculturally,  considering 
the  steep  slopes  and  the  matted  roots,  it  was  unin- 
viting ;  pictorially,  it  was  rounded  into  the  most 
graceful  of  cumulated  swells,  and  all  glowing  with 
its  wild  verdure  ;  practically,  it  was  a  coarse  bit  of 
neglected  cow-pasture,  with  the  fences  down,  and  the 
bushes  rampant. 

What  could  be  done  with  this  ?  It  is  a  query  that 
a  great  many  landholders  throughout  New  England 
will  have  occasion  some  day  to  submit  to  themselves, 
if  they  have  not  done  so  already.  Overfeeding  with 
starveling  cows,  and  a  lazy  dash  at  the  brush  in  the 
idle  days  of  August,  will  not  transform  such  hills 
into  fields  of  agricultural  wealth.  Under  such  regi- 
men they  grow  thinner  and  thinner.  The  annual 
excoriation  of  the  brush  above  ground,  seems  only 
to  provoke  a  finer  and  firmer  distribution  of  the 


120  MY  FARM. 

roots  below ;  and  the  depasturing  by  cows  —  par- 
ticularly of  milch  animals,  folded,  or  stalled  at  night 
—  will  gradually  and  surely  diminish  the  fertilizing 
capital  of  such  grazing  land.  It  is  specially  notice- 
able that  the  deterioration  under  these  conditions, 
is  much  more  marked  upon  hill  lands  than  upon 
level  meadows.* 

In  the  back  country,  such  old  pastures  with  their 
brush  and  scattered  stones,  will  feed  sheep  profit- 
ably, and  will  grow  better  under  the  cropping.  But 
in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  towns,  where 
every  barkeeper  has  his  half  dozen  dogs,  and  every 
Irish  family  their  cur,  and  every  vagabond  his  canine 
associate,  sheep  can  only  be  kept  at  a  serious  risk  of 
immolation  for  the  benefit  of  these  worthies.  Proper 
legislation  might  interpose  a  bar,  indeed,  to  such 
sacrifice  of  agricultural  interests,  —  if  legislation 
were  not  so  largely  in  the  hands  of  dog-fanciers. 

The  sheep  are  not  the  only  sufferers. 

Shall  the  hill  be  ploughed  ?  It  is  not  an  easy  task 
to  lay  a  good  furrow  along  a  slope  of  forty-five  de- 
grees, with  its  seams  of  old  wintry  torrents,  its  oc- 
casional boulders,  and  its  matted  myrtle  roots  ;  and, 

*  This  is  perhaps  more  apparent  than  real,  from  the  fact 
that  upon  level  lands  the  droppings  are  more  evenly  dis- 
tributed. 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  121 

if  fairly  accomplished,  the  winter's  rains  may  drive 
new  seams  from  top  to  bottom,  carrying  the  light 
mould  far  down  under  walls,  and  into  useless  places, 
—  leaving  harsh  yellow  scars,  that  will  defy  the  mel- 
lowest June  sunshine. 

A  city  friend,  with  city  aptitude,  suggests  —  ter- 
races ;  and  instances  the  pretty  ones  overhung  with 
vines,  which  the  traveller  may  see  along  the  banks 
of  the  Rhine. 

I  answer  kindly  ;  and  in  the  same  vein  —  suggest 
that  such  scattered  rocks,  as  are  not  needed,  may  be 
thrown  into  the  shape  of  an  old  watch  tower  —  with 
Bishop  Hatto's  for  a  model  —  to  mimic  the  Rhine 
ruins. 

"  Charming  !  and  when  the  grapes  are  ripe, 

drop  me  a  line."  And  my  city  friend  plucks  a  bit  of 
penny-royal,  and  nips  it  complacently. 

Terracing  might  be  done  in  a  rude  but  substantial 
way,  at  the  cost  of  about  fifteen  hundred  dollars  the 
acre.  This  might  do  at  Johannisberg  ;  but  hardly, 
in  a  large  way,  in  Connecticut.  Crops  must  needs 
be  exceeding  large  upon  such  terraces,  to  compete 
succesfully  with  those  of  a  thriving  "  forehanded " 
man,  who  farms  upon  a  land  capital  of  less  than  a 
hundred  dollars  to  the  acre. 

I  abandoned  the  design  of  terraces.  And  yet, 
there  are  times  when  I  regale  myself  for  hours  to- 


122  MY  FARM. 

gether,  with  the  pleasant  fancy  of  my  city  friend. 
His  terraces  should  be  well  lichened  over  now  ;  and 
I  seem  to  see  brimming  on  the  successive  shelves  of 
the  hill,  great  festoons  of  vines,  spotted  with  purple 
clusters  ;  amidst  the  foliage,  there  gleams,  here  and 
there,  the  broad  hat  of  some  vineyard  dresser  (as  in 
German  pictures),  and  crimson  kirtles  come  and  go, 
and  songs  flash  into  the  summer  stillness,  and  a  soft 
purple  haze  wraps  the  scene,  and  thickens  in  the 
hollows  of  the  land,  and  swims  fathoms  deep  around 
the  ruin 

"  Square,  what  d'ye  ask  apiece  for  them  suck- 
ers?" 

It  is  my  neighbor,  who  has  clambered  up,  holding 
by  the  myrtle  bushes,  to  buy  a  pig. 

The  vexed  question  of  the  proper  dressing  and 
tillage  of  the  hillside,  is  still  in  reserve.  I  resolved 
it  in  this  wise  :  —  Of  the  rocks  most  convenient,  and 
least  available  for  fencing  purposes,  I  constructed  an 
easy  roadway,  leading  by  gradual  inclination  from 
top  to  bottom  ;  other  stones  were  laid  up  in  a  sub- 
stantial wall,  which  supplies  the  place  of  a  stagger- 
ing and  weakly  fence,  that  every  strong  north- 
wester prostrated ;  still  others,  of  a  size  too  small 
for  any  such  purpose,  were  buried  in  drains,  which 
diverted  the  standing  moisture  from  one  or  two 
sedgy  basins  on  the  hill,  and  discharged  the  flow 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  123 

upon  the  crown  of  a  gravelly  slope.  There,  I  have 
now  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a  most  luxuriant  growth 
of  white  clover  and  red  top,  fertilized  wholly  by  the 
flow  of  water  which  was  only  harmful  in  its  old  lo- 
cality. I  next  ordered,  in  the  leisurely  time  of  later 
autumn,  the  grubbing  up  of  the  patches  of  myrtles 
and  briers,  root  and  branch ;  these  with  the  mossy 
turf  that  cumbered  them,  after  thorough  drying, 
were  set  on  fire,  and  burned  slumberously,  with  a 
little  careful  watching  and  tending,  for  weeks  to- 
gether. I  was  thus  in  possession  of  a  comparatively 
smooth  surface,  not  so  far  disintegrated  as  to  be 
subject  to  damaging  washes  of  storm,  besides  having 
a  large  stock  of  fertilizing  material  in  the  shape  of 
ashes. 

In  the  following  spring,  these  were  carefully 
spread  ;  a  generous  supply  of  hay-seed  sown,  and 
still  further,  an  ample  dressing  of  phosphatic  guano. 
The  hillside  was  then  thoroughly  combed  with  a 
fine-toothed  Scotch  harrow,  and  the  result  has  been 
a  compact  lively  sod,  and  a  richer  bite  for  the  cattle. 

Again,  upon  one  or  two  salient  points  of  the  hill, 
where  there  were  stubborn  rocks  which  forbade  re- 
moval, I  have  set  little  coppices  of  native  evergreens, 
which,  without  detracting  in  any  appreciable  degree 
from  the  grazing  surface,  will,  as  they  grow,  have 
charming  effect,  and  offer  such  modicum  of  shade 


124  MY  FARM. 

as  all  exposed  pasture  lands  need.  One  who  looked 
only  to  simple  farm  results,  would  certainly  never 
have  planted  the  little  coppices,  or  hedged  them,  as 
I  have  done,  against  injury.  But  it  appears  to  me 
that  judicious  management  of  land  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  large  towns,  should  not  ignore  wholly,  the 
conservation  of  those  picturesque  effects,  which  at 
no  very  remote  time,  may  come  to  have  a  market- 
able value,  greater  even  than  the  productive  capacity 
of  the  soil 

I  have  even  had  the  hardihood  to  leave  upon  cer- 
tain particularly  intractable  spots  of  the  hill  land, 
groups  of  myrtles,  briers,  scrubby  oaks,  wild  grapes, 
and  birches,  to  tangle  themselves  together1  as  they 
will,  in  a  wanton  savagery  of  growth.  Such  a  copse 
makes  a  round  perch  or  two  of  wilderness  about  the 
sprawling  wreck  of  an  old  cellar  and  chimney,  which 
have  traditional  smack  of  former  Indian  occupancy  ; 
and  the  site  gives  color  to  the  tradition  ;  —  for  you 
look  from  it  southeasterly  over  three  square  miles 
of  wavy  meadows,  through  which  a  river  gleams, 
and  over  bays  that  make  good  fishing  ground,  and 
over  a  ten-mile  reach  of  shimmering  sea.  A  little 
never-failing  spring  bubbles  up  a  few  yards  away ; 
and  to  the  westward  and  northward,  the  land  piles 
in  easy  slope,  making  sunny  shelter,  where,  —  first 
on  all  the  hillside,  —  the  snow  vanishes  in  Spring. 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  125 

The  Indian  people  had  a  quick  eye  for  such  advan- 
tages of  position. 

In  still  further  confirmation,  I  have  turned  up  an 
arrow-head  or  two  in  the  neighborhood,  chipped 
from  white  quartz,  and  as  keen  and  sharp  as  on  the 
day  they  were  wrought. 

I  am  aware  that  what  are  called  "  tidy  farmers  " 
would  have  brushed  away  these  outlying  copses,  no 
matter  what  roughnesses  they  concealed ;  but  I  sus- 
pect their  rude  autumn  clippings  with  a  bush-hook, 
would  only  have  provoked  a  spread  of  the  rootlets  ; 
and  if  effectual,  would  have  given  them  only  a  bit  of 
barrenness. 

Up-country  farmers  are  overtaken  from  time  to 
time,  with  what  I  may  call  a  spasmodic  tidiness, 
which  provokes  a  general  onslaught  with  bill-hooks 
and  castaway  scythes,  upon  hedge  rows  and  wayside 
bushes,  and  pasture  thickets,  —  without  considering 
that  these  thickets  may  conceal  idle  stone  heaps  or 
decrepid  walls,  which  are  as  sightless  as  the  extermi- 
nated bush  ;  and  their  foray  leaves  a  vigorous  crop 
of  harsh  stubs,  which,  with  the  next  season,  shoot 
up  with  more  luxuriance  than  ever,  and  leave  no 
more  available  land  within  the  farmer's  grasp  than 
before.  Wherever  it  is  profitable  to  remove  such 
wild  growth,  it  is  profitable  to  exterminate  it  root 
and  branch.  Half  doing  the  matter  is  of  less  worth 


126  MY  FARM. 

than  not  doing  it  at  all.  But  it  is  well  to  consider 
before  entering  upon  such  a  campaign,  if  the  end 
will  justify  the  labor  ;  and  if  the  recovered  strips  of 
land  will  carry  remunerative  crops.  If  otherwise, 
let  the  wild  growth  enjoy  its  wantonness.  It  may 
come  to  be  a  little  scattered  range  of  wood  in  time, 
and  so  have  its  value  ;  it  may  offer  shelter  against 
the  sweep  of  winds  ;  it  will  give  a  nursing  place 
for  the  birds,  —  and  the  birds  are  the  farmer's 
friends. 

I  am  loth  to  believe  that  the  natural  graces  of 
woodland  and  shrubbery  are  incompatible  with  agri- 
cultural interests ;  and  a  true  farm  economy  seems 
to  me  better  directed  in  making  more  thorough  the 
tillage  of  the  open  lands,  than  in  making  Quixotic 
foray  upon  the  bushy  fastnesses  of  outlying  pas- 
tures. 

"When  a  dense  population  shall  have  rendered  ne- 
cessary the  employment  of  every  foot  of  our  area  for 
food-growing  purposes,  it  may  be  incumbent  on  us 
to  cleave  all  the  rocks,  and  to  clear  away  all  the 
copses  :  but  until  then,  I  shall  love  to  treat  with  a 
tender  consideration  the  green  mantle  —  albeit  of 
brambles  and  wild  vines — with  which  Nature  covers 
her  roughnesses ;  and  I  like  to  see  in  the  stream- 
ing tendrils,  and  in  the  nodding  tassels  of  bloom 
which  bind  and  tuft  these  wild  thickets  of  the  hills, 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  12? 

a  sampler  of  vegetable  luxuriance,  which  every 
summer's  day  provokes  and  defies  all  our  rivalry  of 
the  fields. 

What  is  called  tidiness,  is  by  no  means  always 
taste ;  and  I  am  slow  to  believe  that  farm  economy 
must  be  at  eternal  war  with  grace.  I  know  well  that 
no  inveterate  improver  should  ever  tempt  me  to  ex- 
tirpate the  dandelions  from  the  green  carpet  of  my 
lawn,  or  to  cut  away  the  wild  Kalmia  bush  which  in 
yonder  group  among  the  rocks,  is  just  now  redden- 
ing into  its  crown  of  blossoms. 


The  Farm  Flat. 

TT  is  a  different  matter  with  the  eighty  acres  of 
-*-  meadow  which  lie  stretched  out  in  view  from> 
my  door.  There,  at  least,  it  seemed  to  me,  must  be 
a  clean,  clear  sweep  for  the  furrows.  Yet  I  remem- 
ber there  were  long  wavy  lines  of  elder-bushes,  and 
wild-cherries,  groping  beside  the  disorderly  dividing 
fences.  There  were  weakly  old  apple-trees,  with 
blackened,  dead  tops,'  and  with  trunks  half  concealed 
by  thickets  of  dwarfish  shoots  ;  there  were  triplets 
of  lithe  elms,  and  hickory  trees,  scattered  here  and 
there;  —  in  some  fields,  stunted,  draggled  cedar 
bushes,  and  masses  of  yellow-weed  ;  —  a  little  patch 


128  MY  FARM. 

of  ploughed-land  in  the  corner  of  one  enclosure,  and 
a  waving  half  acre  of  rye  in  the  middle  of  the  next. 
The  fences  themselves  were  disjointed  and  twisted, 
—  the  fields  without  uniformity  in  size,  and  with  no 
order  in  their  arrangement. 

"  I  think  we  must  mend  the  look  of  these  mead- 
ows, Coombs  ?  " 

And  the  dapper  Somersetshire  man,  with  his  hat 
defiantly  on  one  side  —  "  Please  God,  and  I  think 
we  will,  sir." 

I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say  that  he  was  as 
good  as  his  word.  In  looking  over  the  scene  now, 
I  find  no  straggling  cedars,  no  scattered  shoots  of 
elms ;  the  wayward  elders,  and  the  wild-cherries 
save  one  protecting  and  orderly  hedgerow  along  the 
northern  border  of  the  farm  —  are  gone.  The  de- 
crepid  apple-trees  are  rooted  up,  or  combed  and 
pruned  into  more  promising  shape.  Ten-acre  fields, 
trim  and  true,  are  distributed  over  the  meadow  land, 
and  each,  for  the  most  part,  has  its  single  engross- 
ing crop. 

As  I  look  out  from  my  library  window  to-day  — 
and  the  learned  reader  may  guess  the  month  .from 
my  description  —  I  see  one  field  reddened  with  the 
lusty  bloom  of  clover,  which  stands  trembling  in  its 
ranks,  and  which  I  greatly  fear  will  be  doubled  on 
its  knees  with  the  first  rain  storm ;  another  shows 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  129 

the  yellowish  waving  green  of  full-grown  rye,  sway- 
ing and  dimpling,  and  drifting  as  the  idle  winds 
will ;  another  is  half  in  barley  and  half  in  oats  —  a 
bristling  green  beard  upon  the  first,  the  oats  just 
flinging  out  their  fleecy,  feathery  tufts  of  blossom ; 
upon  another  field,  are  deep  dark  lines  beneath 
which,  in  September,  there  are  fair  hopes  of  harvest- 
ing a  thousand  bushels  of  potatoes;  yet  another, 
shows  fine  lines  of  growing  corn,  and  a  brown  area, 
where  a  closer  look  would  reveal  the  delicate  growth 
of  fresh-starting  carrots  and  mangel.  All  the  rest  in 
waving  grass  ;  not  so  clean  as  could  be  wished,  for  I 
see  tawny  stains  of  blossoming  sorrel,  and  fields 
whitened  like  a  sheet,  with  daisies. 

If  there  be  any  cure  for  daisies,  short  of  a  clean 
fallow  every  second  year,  I  do  not  know  it ;  at  least, 
not  in  a  region  where  your  good  neighbors  allow 
them  to  mature  seed  every  year,  and  stock  your  fields 
with  every  strong  wind,  afresh. 

Heavy  topdressing  is  recommended  for  their 
eradication,  but  it  is  not  effective ;  so  far  as  I  can 
see,  the  interlopers,  if  once  established,  enjoy  heavy 
feedjng.  A  rye  crop  is  by  many  counted  an  exter- 
minator of  this  pest ;  but  it  will  find  firm  footing 
after  rye.  Thorough  and  clean  tillage,  with  a  sys- 
tem of  rotation,  afford  the  only  security. 

It  is  not  Burns'  "  wee-tipped  "  daisy  that  is  to  be 
9 


130  MY  FARM. 

dealt  with  ;  it  is  a  sturdier  plant  —  our  ox-eye  daisy 
of  the  fields  ;  there  is  no  modesty  in  its  flaunting  air 
and  the  bold  uplift  of  its  white  and  yellow  face. 

I  never  thought  there  was  a  beauty  in  it,  until,  on 
a  day  —  years  ago  —  after  a  twelvemonth's  wander- 
ing over  the  fields  of  the  Continent,  I  came  upon  a 
little  pot  of  it,  under  the  wing  of  the  Madeleine,  on 
the  streets  of  Paris.  It  was  a  dwarfish  specimen, 
and  the  nodding  blossoms  (only  a  pair  of  them)  gave 
a  modest  dip  over  the  edge  of  the  red  crock,  as  if 
they  felt  themselves  in  a  country  of  strangers.  But 
it  was  the  true  daisy  for  all  this,  and  I  greeted  it 
with  a  welcoming  franc  of  purchase  money,  and  car- 
ried it  to  my  rooms,  and  established  it  upon  my 
balcony,  where,  while  the  flower  lasted,  I  made  a 
new  Picciola  of  it.  And  as  I  watered  it,  and  watched 
its  green  buttons  of  buds  unfolding  the  white 
leaflets,  wide  •visions  of  rough  New  England  grass- 
lands came  pouring  with  the  sunshine  into  the  Paris 
window,  and  with  them,  —  the  drowsy  song  of  lo- 
custs, —  the  gushing  melody  of  Bob-o'-Lincolns,  — 
until  the  drum-beat  at  the  opposite  Caserne  drowned 
it,  and  broke  the  dream. 

These  living  and  growing  souvenirs  of  far-away 
places,  carry  a  wealth  of  interest  and  of  suggestion 
about  them,  which  no  merely  inanimate  object  can 
do.  I  have  flowers  fairly  pressed,  not  having  wholly 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  131 

lost  their  color,  which  I  plucked  from  the  walls  of 
Borne,  and  others  from  a  house-court  of  the  buried 
Pompeii ;  but  they  are  as  dead  as  the  guide-books 
that  describe  the  places. 

It  is  different  wholly  with  a  little  potted  Ivy  which 
a  friend  has  sent  from  the  walls  of  Kenilworth. 
It  clambers  over  a  rustic  frame  within  the  window 

—  a  tiny,  but  a  real  offshoot  of  that  great  mass  of 
vegetable  life  which  is  flaunting  over  the  British 
ruin  ;  a  little  live  bubble  as  it  were,  from  that  stock 
of  vitality  which  is  searching  all  the  crannies  of  the 
masonry  that  belongs  to  the  days  of  Elizabeth. 

I  never  look  at  it  in  times  of  idle  musing,  but  its 
shiny  leaflets  seem  to  carry  me  to  the  gray  wreck  of 
castle :  and  the  tramp  through  the  meadows  from 
Leamington  comes  back  —  the  wet  grass,  the  gray 
walls,  the  broad-hatted  English  girls,  hovering  with 
gleeful  laughter  about  the  ruin,  and  the  flitch  of 
bacon  hanging  in  the  gatekeeper's  house.  Other- 
times,  the  dainty  tendrils  of  the  vine  lead  me  still 
farther  back ;  and  Leicester,  Amy  Kobsart,  Essex, 
and  Queen  Bess  with  her  followers,  and  all  her  court, 

—  come  trooping  to  my  eye  in  the  trail  of  this  poor 
little  exiled  creeper  from  Kenilworth. 

But  this  is  not  farming. 

"  Coombs,"  said  I,  "  what  shall  we  plant  upon  the 
flat?" — not  that  I  had  no  opinion  on  the  subject, 


132  MY  FARM. 

but  because  in  farming,  there  is  a  value  in  the  sug- 
gestions of  every  practical  worker. 

The  Somersetshire  man  leans  his  head  a  little,  as 
if  considering :  —  "  We  must  have  some  artificial,  sir, 

—  for  the  cows  —  Mangel  or  pale  Belgians,  —  both 
good,  sir ;    some  oats  for  the  'osses,  sir ;   potatoes, 
sir,  is  a  tidy  crop  — ' 

I  observe  that  Englishmen  and  Scotchmen  are 
disposed  to  slight  our  standard  crop  of  maize.  They 
do  not  understand  it  They  fail  of  making  a  cred- 
itable show  in  comparison  with  the  old-school  native 
farmers,  who,  by  dint  of  long  experience,  have  ac- 
quired the  habit  (rather  habit  than  capacity)  of 
making  a  moderate  crop  of  corn  with  the  least  pos- 
sible amount  of  tillage  and  of  skill.  To  turn  over  a 
firm  grass  sward,  and^  plant  directly  upon  the  in- 
verted turf,  without  harrowing,  or  ridging,  or  drill- 
ing, is  contrary  to  all  the  old-country  traditions. 

And  yet  the  fact  is  notorious,  that  some  of  the 
best  corn  crops  (I  do  not  speak  now  of  exceptional 
and  premium  crops),  are  grown  in  precisely  this 
primitive  way  ;  given  a  good  sod,  and  a  good  top- 
dressing  turned  under  —  with,  perhaps,  a  little  dash 
of  superphosphate  upon  the  hills  to  quicken  germi- 
nation, and  give  vigorous  start,  —  and  the  New  Eng- 
land farmer,  if  he  give  clean  and  thorough  culture 

—  which,  under  such  circumstances,  involves  little 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  133 

labor  —  can  count  upon  his  forty  or  fifty  bushels  of 
sound  corn  to  the  acre.  And  the  Scotchman  or 
Englishman  may  tear  the  sod.  or  ridge  the  field,  or 
drill  it,  or  torment  it  as  he  will,  before  planting, 
and  the  chances  are,  he  will  reap,  with  the  same 
amount  of  fertilizers,  a  smaller  harvest.  And  it  is 
precisely  this  undervaluation  of  his  traditional  mode 
of  labor,  that  makes  him  show  a  distaste  for  the  crop. 
Corn  is  a  rank  grower,  and  very  largely,  a  surface 
feeder  ;  for  these  reasons,  it  accommodates  itself  bet- 
ter than  most  farm  crops,  to  an  awkward  and  care- 
less husbandry  —  provided  only,  abundance  of  gross 
fertilizers  are  present,  and  comparative  cleanliness 
secured.  It  is  not  a  crop  which  I  should  count  a 
valuable  assistant  in  bringing  the  sandy  loam  of  a 
neglected  farm  into  a  condition  of  prime  fertility. 
It  has  so  rank  an  appetite  for  the  inorganic  riches 
of  a  soil,  as  to  forbid  any  accumulation  of  that  valu- 
able capital.  Nor  do  I  clearly  perceive  how,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  large  towns,  and  upon  light  soils, 
it  can  be  made  a  profitable  crop  at  the  East.  It  has 
a  traditional  sanctity,  to  be  sure  ;  and  a  great  many 
pleasant  old  gentlemen  of  New  England,  who  count 
themselves  shrewd  farmers,  would  as  soon  think  of 
abandoning  their  heavy  ox-carts,  or  of  adopting  a 
long-handled  shovel,  as  of  abandoning  their  yearly 
growth  of  corn. 


I34  MY  FARM. 

I  think  I  have  given  the  matter  a  fair  test,  not- 
withstanding the  objections  of  my  Somersetshire 
friend,  and  have  added  to  my  own  experience,  very 
much  observation  of  my  neighbors'  practice.  And  I 
am  very  confident  that  if  only  a  fair  valuation  be 
placed  upon  the  labor  and  manures  required,  that 
any  average  corn  crop  grown  upon  light  soils  at  the 
East,  will  cost  the  producer  four  years  out  of  five, 
ten  per  cent,  more  than  the  market  price  of  the 
Western  grain.  In  this  estimate,  I  make  due  al- 
lowance for  the  value  of  the  stalks  and  blades  for 
forage. 

I  shall  enter  into  no  array  of  figures  for  the  sake 
of  proving  this  point ;  figures  can  be  made  to  prove, 
or  seem  to  prove  so  many  things.  And  however 
clearly  the  fact  might  be  demonstrated,  there  are 
two  classes  at  least,  upon  whom  the  demonstration 
would  have  no  effect ;  the  first  being  those  over- 
shrewd  old  men,  who  keep  unflinchingly  to  their 
accustomed  ways,  counting  their  own  labor  for  little 
or  nothing  (in  which  they  are  not  far  wrong) ;  and 
the  other  class  consisting  of  those  retired  gentlemen 
who  bring  so  keen  a  relish  for  farming  to  their  work, 
that  they  rather  enjoy  producing  a  crop  at  a  cost  of 
twice  its  market  value.  I  heartily  wish  I  were  able 
to  participate  in  such  pleasant  triumphs. 

But  if   the   economy  of   maize   growing   for  the 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  135 

grain  product  be  questionable,  there  can  be  no  ques- 
tion whatever  of  cultivating  the  crop  as  a  forage 
plant,  for  green  cutting,  and  for  soiling  purposes. 
In  no  way  can  a  full  supply  of  succulent  food  be  fur- 
nished more  cheaply  for  a  herd  of  cows,  during  the 
heats  of  August  and  September.  For  this  object,  I 
have  found  the  best  results  in  drilling  eighteen 
inches  apart,  upon  inverted  sod,  thoroughly  ma- 
nured ;  to  insure  successive  supplies,  the  sowing 
should  be  repeated  at  intervals  of  a  month,  from  the 
twentieth  of  April  to  the  twentieth  of  July.  A  later 
sowing  than  this  last,  will  expose  the  blades  to  early 
frosts. 

The  amount  of  green  food  which  can  be  cut  from 
an  acre  of  well-grown  corn  is  immense  ;  but  let  no 
one  hope  for  successful  results,  without  a  most  ample 
supply  of  manure,  and  clean  land.  The  practice  has 
fallen  into  disfavor  with  many,  from  the  fact  that 
they  have  given  all  their  best  fertilizers  to  other 
crops,  and  then  made  the  experiment  of  growing 
corn-fodder  with  a  flimsy  dressing,  and  no  care. 
They  deserved  to  fail.  It  is  to  be  observed  more- 
over, that  as  the  crop  matures  no  seed,  it  makes 
little  drain  upon  the  mineral  wealth  of  the  land,  and 
can  be  followed  by  any  of  the  cereals.  This  suggests 
a  simple  and  short  rotation  :  First,  corn  —  grown  for 
its  blades  and  stalks  only  (the  first  cuttings  being 


136  MY  FARM. 

succeeded  by  turnips) :  Second,  carrots,  Mangel,  or 
potatoes  :  Third,  oats  or  other  cereal :  and  Fourth, 
clover  with  grass  seeds,  to  be  mown  so  long  as 
the  interests  of  the  dairy  or  the  land  may  de- 
mand. 

A  professed  grain-grower,  or  an  English  farmer, 
would  smile  at  such  an  unstudied  rotation ;  but  I 
name  it  in  all  confidence,  as  one  adapted  to  dairy 
purposes,  upon  lands  which  need  recuperation.  It 
is,  in  fact,  a  succession  of  two  fallow  crops,  and  with 
proper  culture  and  dressings,  will  insure  accumulat- 
ing fertility. 

Such  a  simple  course  of  green  cropping  is,  more- 
over, admirably  adapted  to  the  system  of  soiling, 
which,  upon  all  light  and  smooth  lands,  adapted  to 
dairy  purposes,  in  the  neighborhood  of  towns,  must 
sooner  or  later  become  the  prevailing  method  ;  and 
this,  —  because  it  is  economic,  —  because  it  is  sure, 
and  because  it  supplies  fourfold  more  of  enriching 
material  than  belongs  to  any  other  system.  I  am 
not  writing  a  didactic  book,  or  offering  any  challenge 
to  the  agricultural  critics  (who,  I  am  afraid,  are  as 
full  of  their  little  jealousies  as  the  literary  critics),  — 
else  I  would  devote  a  full  chapter  to  this  theory  of 
soiling,  and  press  strongly  what  I  believe  to  be  its 
advantages. 

The  reader  is  spared  this  ;  but  he  must  pardon 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  137 

me  a  little  fanciful  illustration  of  the  subject,  in 
which  I  have  sometimes  indulged,  and  which  may, 
possibly,  at  a  future  day,  become  real 


An  Illustration  of  Soiling. 

the  eighty-acre  flat  below —  so  like  a  car- 
pet,  with  its  checkered  growth  —  I  order  every 
line  of  division  fence  to  be  removed  ;  the  best  of  the 
material  being  kept  in  reserve  for  making  good  the 
border  fences,  and  the  remainder  cut,  split,  and  piled 
for  the  fire.  The  neighbors,  who  cling  to  the  old 
system  of  two-acre  lots,  and  pinched  door-yards, 
open  their  eyes  and  mouths  very  widely  at  this. 
The  novelty,  like  all  novelties  in  a  quiet  country 
region,  is  at  once  astounding  and  oppressive.  As  if 
the  parish  parson  were  suddenly  to  come  out  in  the 
red  stockings  of  a  cardinal,  or  a  sober-sided  select- 
man to  appear  on  the  highway  without  some  impor- 
tant article  of  his  dress. 

I  fancy  two  or  three  astute  old  gentlemen  leaning 
over  the  border  fence,  as  the  work  of  demolition 
goes  on. 

"  The  Squire 's  makin'  this  ere  farm  inter  a  parade- 
ground,  a'n't  he  ? "  says  one  ;  and  there  is  a  little, 
withering  sarcastic  laugh  of  approval 


138  MY  FARM. 

Presently,  another  is  charged  with  a  reflection 
which  he  submits  in  this  shape :  "  Ef  a  crittur  breaks 
loose  in  sich  a  rannge  as  that,  I  raether  guess  he'll 
have  a  time  on't"  And  there  is  another  chirrupy 
laugh,  and  significant  noddings  are  passed  back  and 
forth  between  the  astute  old  gentlemen —  as  if  they 
were  mandarin  images,  and  nodded  by  reason  of  the 
gravity  of  some  concealed  dead  weight  —  (as  indeed 
they  do). 

A  third  suggests  that  "  there  woant  be  no  great 
expense  for  diggin'  o'  post  holes,"  which  remark  is 
so  obviously  sound,  that  it  is  passed  by  in  silence. 

The  clearance,  however,  goes  forward  swimmingly. 
The  new  breadth  which  seems  given  to  the  land  as 
the  dwarfish  fields  disappear  one  after  another,  de- 
velops a  beauty  of  its  own.  The  Yellow-weeds,  and 
withered  wild-grasses,  which  had  clung  under  the 
shelter  of  the  fences,  even  with  the  best  care,  are  all 
shorn  away.  The  tortuous  and  irregular  lines  which 
the  frosts  had  given  to  the  reeling  platoons  of  rails, 
perplex  the  eye  no  more. 

Near  to  the  centre  of  these  opened  fields  is  a 
great  feeding-shed,  one  hundred  feet  by  forty,  its 
ridge  high,  and  the  roof  sloping  away  in  swift  pitch 
on  either  side  to  lines  of  posts,  rising  eight  feet  only 
from  the  ground.  The  gables  are  covered  in  with 
rough  material,  in  such  shape  as  to  leave  three  sim- 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  139 

pie  open  arches  at  either  end  ;  the  middle  opening, 
—  high  and  broad,  so  that  loaded  teams  may  pass 
beneath  ;  the  two  flanking  arches,  —  lower,  and 
opening  upon  two  ranges  of  stalls  which  sweep  down 
on  either  side  the  building.  These  stalls  are  so  dis- 
posed that  the  cattle  are  fed  directly  from  carts 
passing  around  the  exterior.  Behind  either  range 
of  cattle  is  a  walk  five  feet  broad  ;  and  between 
these  walks,  —  an  open  space  sixteen  feet  wide, 
traversing  the  whole  length  of  the  building,  and 
serving  at  once  as  manure  pit,  and  gangway  for  the 
teams  which  deposit  from  time  to  time  their  contri- 
butions of  muck  and  turf.  Midway  of  this  central 
area  is  a  covered  cistern,  from  which,  as  occasion 
demands,  the  drainage  of  the  stalls  may  be  pumped 
up  to  drench  the  accumulating  stock  of  fertilizing 
material. 

This  simple  building,  which  serves  as  the  summer 
quarters  of  the  dairy,  is  picturesque  in  its  outline  ; 
for  I  know  no  reason  why  economy  should  abjure 
grace,  or  why  farm  construction  should  be  uncouth 
or  tawdry. 

A  small  pasture-close,  with  strong  fencing  —  with 
gates  that  will  not  swag,  and  with  abundance  of 
running  water,  supplied  from  the  hills,  serves  as  an 
exercising  ground  for  the  cows  for  two  hours  each 
day.  Other  times,  throughout  the  growing  season, 


140  MY  FARM. 

they  belong  in  the  open  and  airy  stalls.  The  crops 
'which  are  to  feed  them,  are  pushing  luxuriantly 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  their  quarters.  An  active 
man  with  a  sharp  scythe,  a  light  horse-cart  and  Cana- 
dian pony,  will  look  after  the  feeding  of  a  herd  of  fifty, 
with  time  to  spare  for  milking  and  stall  cleaning. 

From  the  tenth  of  May  to  the  first  of  June,  per- 
haps nothing  will  contribute  so  much  to  a  full  flow 
of  milk,  as  the  fresh-springing  grass  upon  some  out- 
lying pasture  on  the  hills.  After  this,  the  cows  may 
take  up  their  regular  summer  quarters  in  the  build- 
ing I  have  roughly  indicated.  From  the  first  to  the 
tenth  of  June,  there  may  be  heavy  cuttings  of  winter 
rye  ;  from  the  tenth  of  June  to  the  twentieth,  the 
lucerne  (than  which  no  better  soiling  crop  can  be 
found)  is  in  full  season  ;  after  the  twentieth,  clover 
and  orchard  grass  are  in  their  best  condition,  and 
retain  their  succulence  up  to  the  first  week  in  July, 
when,  in  ordinary  seasons,  the  main  reliance — maize 
which  was  sown  in  mid-April,  is  fit  for  the  scythe. 
Succeeding  crops  of  this,  keep  the  mangers  of  the 
cows  full,  up  to  an  early  week  in  October.  After- 
ward may  come  cuttings  of  late-sown  barley,  or  the 
leaves  of  the  Mangel,  or  carrot-tops,  with  which,  as 
a  bonne  bouche,  the  cattle  are  withdrawn  to  their 
winter  quarters,  for  their  dietary  of  cut-feed,  oil- 
cake, occasional  bran  and  roots. 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  141 

They  leave  behind  them  in  their  summer  banquet-1 
ing  house,  a  little  Bhigi  of  fertilizing  material  —  not 
exposed  to  storms,  neither  too  dry  nor  too  moist, 
and  of  an  unctuous  fatness,  which  will  make  sundry 
surrounding  fields,  in  the  next  season,  carry  a  heav- 
ier burden  than  ever  of  purple  Mangel,  or  of  shining 
maize-leaves. 

I  perceive,  too,  very  clearly,  in  furtherance  of  the 
illustration,  that  one  acre  will  produce  as  much  nu- 
tritive food,  under  this  system,  as  four  acres  under 
the  old  plan  of  waste  —  by  poaching  —  and  by  ex- 
posure of  all  manurial  material  to  the  fierce  beat  of 
the  sun,  and  to  the  washings  of  rain  storms.  I  per- 
ceive that  the  land,  as  well  as  cattle,  are  all  fairly  in 
hand,  and  better  under  control.  If  at  any  time  the 
season,  or  the  market,  should  indicate  a  demand  for 
some  special  crop,  I  am  not  disturbed  by  any  appre- 
hension that  this  or  that  enclosure  may  be  needed 
for  grazing,  and  so,  bar  the  use.  I  perceive  that  a 
well-regulated  system  must  govern  all  the  farm 
labor,  and  that  there  will  be  no  place  for  that  loose- 
ness of  method,  and  carelessness  about  times  and 
details,  which  is  invited  by  the  old  way  of  turning 
cattle  abroad  to  shirk  for  themselves. 

No  timid  team  will  be  thrashed,  in  order  to  wipe 
the  fence  posts  with  the  clattering  whiffletree,  at 
the  last  bout  around  the  headlands.  There  will  be 


142  MY  FARM. 

no  worrying  of  the  Buckeye  in  old  and  weedy  cor- 
ners ;  not  a  reed  or  a  Golden-rod  can  wave  anywhere 
in  triumph.  The  eye  sweeps  over  one  stretch  of 
luxuriant  field,  where  no  foot  of  soil  is  wasted.  The 
crops,  in  long  even  lines,  are  marked  only  by  the 
successive  stages  of  their  growth,  and  by  their  col- 
oring. There  are  no  crooked  rows,  no  gores,  no 
gatherings. 

If  the  reader  has  ever  chanced  to  sail  upon  a 
summer's  day  up  the  river  Seine,  he  will  surely  re- 
member the  beautiful  checker-work  of  crops,  which 
shine,  in  lustrous  green,  on  either  bank  beyond  the 
old  Norman  city  of  Rouen.  Before  yet  the  quaint 
and  gorgeous  towers  of  the  town  have  gone  down  in 
the  distance,  these  newer  beauties  of  the  cleanly 
cultivated  shore-land  challenge  his  wonder  and  ad- 
miration. I  name  the  scene  now,  because  it  shows 
a  cultivation  without  enclosures  ;  nothing  but  a  tra- 
ditional line  —  which  some  aged  poplar,  or  scar  on 
the  chalk  cliff  marks,  —  between  adjoining  proprie- 
tors ;  a  belt  of  wheat  is  fringed  with  long-bearded 
barley ;  and  next,  the  plume-like  tufts  of  the  French 
trefoil,  make  a  glowing  band  of  crimson.  A  sturdy 
peasant  woman,  in  wooden  sabots,  is  gathering  up  a 
bundle  of  the  trefoil  to  carry  to  her  pet  cow,  under 
the  lee  of  the  stone  cottage  that  nestles  by  the  river's 
bank 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  143 


An  Old  Orchard. 

A  CEKTAIN  proportion  of  mossy,  ragged  or- 
-^-*-  charding  belongs  to  almost  every  New  England 
farm.  My  own,  in  this  respect,  was  no  exception  ;  if 
exceptional  at  all,  the  exception  lay  in  the  fact  that 
its  orcharding  was  less  ragged  and  mossy  than  most ; 
the  trees  were  also,  many  of  them,  grafted  with  sorts 
approved  twenty  years  ago.  Eight  acres  of  a  some- 
what gravelly  declivity,  were  devoted  to  this  growth, 
of  which  four  were  in  apple  trees,  two  in  cherries, 
and  two  in  pears.  Intervals  of  two  acres  each,  on 
either  side  the  cherries,  of  unoccupied  land,  were  in 
the  old  time  planted  respectively  with  plums  and 
peaches.  Of  these,  only  a  few  ragged  stumps,  or 
fitful  and  black-knotted  shoots,  remained.  Their 
life  as  well  as  their  fruitfulness  had  gone  by  ;  and  I 
only  knew  of  them  through  the  plaintive  laments  of 
many  an  old-time  visitor,  who  tantalized  me  with  his 
tales  of  the  rare  abundance  of  luscious  stone-fruits, 
which  once  swept  down  the  hillside. 

The  whole  enclosure  of  twelve  acres  had  relapsed 
into  a  wild  condition.  The  turf  was  made  up  of  a 
promiscuous  array  of  tussocks  of  wild-grass,  dwarfed 
daisies,  struggling  sorrel,  with  here  and  there  a 


144  MY  FARM. 

mullein  lifting  its  yellow  head,  and  domineering  over 
the  lesser  wild  growth.  Occasional  clumps  of  hick- 
ory, or  of  wild-cherry,  had  shot  up,  and  exhibited  a 
succulence  and  vigor  which  did  not  belong  to  the 
cultivated  trees. 

And  now  I  am  going  to  describe  fully  —  keeping 
nothing  back  —  the  manner  in  which  I  dealt  with 
this  wilderness  of  orchard.  It  was  not  in  many  re- 
spects the  best  way  ;  but  the  record  of  errors  in  so 
experimental  a  matter,  often  carries  as  good  a  lesson 
as  the  record  of  successes.  This  is  as  true  in  state- 
craft as  with  old  orcharding. 

First,  I  extirpated  every  tree  which  was  not  a  fruit 
tree  — with  the  exception  of  one  lordly  sugar  maple 
at  the  foot  of  the  decli vity,  and  standing  within  one 
of  the  unoccupied  belts.  Its  stately,  compact  head, 
shading  a  full  half  acre  of  ground,  still  crowns  the 
view.  I  am  aware  that  it  is  an  agricultural  enormity. 
The  mowers  complain  that  the  broken  limbs,  torn 
down  by  ice  storms,  are  a  pest;  the  tenant  com- 
plains of  its  deep  shade  ;  one  or  two  neighboring 
sawyers  have  made  enticing  propositions  for  its  stal- 
wart bole,  yet  I  cannot  forego  my  respect  for  its 
united  age  and  grace. 

With  this  exception,  I  made  full  clearance,  and 
turned  under,  by  careful  ploughing,  all  the  wild  sod. 
I  dressed  the  whole  field  heavily  with  such  f  ertilizers 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  145 

as  could  be  brought  together,  from  home  resources 
and  from  town  stables,  with  certain  addenda  of  lime 
and  phosphates.  I  removed  all  trees  in  a  dying  con- 
dition, of  which  there  were  at  least  twenty  per  cent. 
of  the  gross  number  ;  I  pruned  away  all  dead  limbs, 
all  interlacing  boughs,  and  swamps  of  shoots  from 
the  roots.  The  mosses,  cocoons,  and  scales  of  old 
bark  were  carefully  scraped  from  the  trunks  and 
larger  limbs,  which  were  then  washed  thoroughly 
with  a  strong  solution  of  potash.  Even  at  this  stage 
of  the  proceedings,  I  felt  almost  repaid  by  the  air  of 
neatness  and  cleanliness  which  the  old  orchard  wore  ; 
and  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  in  regard  to  very  many 
of  the  trees,  it  was  all  the  repayment  I  have  ever 
received. 

Among  the  apple  trees  was  a  large  number  of 
that  old  favorite  the  Newtown  pippin ;  and  these, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  were  the  most  mossy  and  dilapi- 
dated of  all ;  nor  did  they  improve.  No  scrapings 
or  prunings  tempted  them  to  any  luxuriance  of 
growth.  One  by  one  they  have  been  cut  away,  until 
now  only  two  remain.  The  nurserymen  tell  us  that 
the  tree  is  not  adapted  to  the  soil  and  climate  of 
New  England.  I  can  confirm  their  testimony  with 
unction. 

There  was,  also,  a  stalwart  company  of  trees  bear- 
ing that  delightful  little  dessert  fruit  —  the  Lady 

10 


146  MY  FARM. 

apple.  And  I  think  my  pains  added  somewhat  to 
their  thrift ;  they  are  sturdy,  and  full  of  leaves  every 
summer  ;  and  every  May,  in  its  latter  days  sees  them 
a  great  pyramid  of  blooming  and  blushing  white. 
But  after  the  bloom,  the  beauty  is  never  fully  re- 
stored. There  is  fruit  indeed,  but  small,  pinched, 
pierced  with  curculio  stings,  bored  through  and 
through  with  the  worm  of  the  apple-moth  ;  and  over 
and  above  all,  every  apple  is  patched  with  a  mouldy 
blight  which  forbids  full  growth,  and  gives  it,  with 
its  brilliant  red  cheek,  a  falsified  promise  of  excel- 
lence. I  have  found  in  the  books  no  illustration  of 
this  peculiar  distemper  which  attacks  the  Lady 
apple  ;  but  in  my  orchard,  in  the  month  of  Novem- 
ber, the  illustrations  abound. 

The  Esopus  Spitzenberg,  that  red,  spicy  bit  of 
apple-flesh,  had  its  representatives  among  the  old 
trees  which  came  under  my  care  ;  I  may  give  it  the 
credit  of  showing  grateful  cognizance  of  the  labor 
bestowed.  The  trees  thrived  ;  they  are  thrifty  now  ; 
the  bloom  is  like  that  of  a  gigantic,  out-spread  Wei- 
gelia.  The  fruit  too  (such  as  the  curculio  spares),  is 
full  and  round  ;  but  there  is  not  a  specimen  of  it 
which  is  not  bored  through  by  the  inevitable  grub 
of  the  apple-moth. 

Besides  the  varieties  I  have  particularized,  there 
were  the  Tallinan  and  Pound  Sweetings  sparsely 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  147 

represented ;  and  the  Rhode  Island  Greening,  which 
I  will  fairly  admit,  has  made  a  better  struggle 
against  adverse  influences,  than  any  winter  fruit  I 
have  named.  So  fair  a  struggle,  indeed,  that  if  I 
could  only  forego  the  visitations  of  the  curculio  and 
of  the  moth,  I  might  hope  for  an  old-time  fulness  of 
crop.  The  Strawberry  apple,  by  reason,  I  think,  of 
its  early  maturity  (and  the  same  is  true  of  the  Red 
Astrachan),  has  shown  a  more  kindly  recognition  of 
care  than  the  later  fruits.  The  moth,  if  it  attacks, 
does  not  destroy  it.  I  count  upon  its  brilliant  color- 
ing, and  its  piquant  acidity  in  the  first  days  of  Au- 
gust, as  surely  as  I  count  upon  the  rains  which  fol- 
low the  in-gathering  of  the  hay.  There  remained  a 
few  trees  of  various  old-fashioned  sorts,  such  as  the 
Fall-Pippin,  the  Pearmain,  the  Cheseborough  Russet, 
and  the  black  Gilliflower,  which  have  shown  little 
thrift,  and  borne  no  fruit  of  which  a  modest  man 
would  be  inclined  to  boast. 

In  short,  there  appeared  so  little  promise  of  emi- 
nent results,  that  after  two  or  three  years  I  gave 
over  all  special  culture  of  the  majority  of  the  trees, 
and  devoting  the  land  to  grass,  left  them  to  struggle 
against  the  new  sod  as  they  best  could.  Fruit 
growers  and  nursery  men  will  object  that  the  trial 
was  not  complete  ;  and  they  wih1,  with  good  reason, 
aver  that  no  fruit  trees  can  make  successful  struggle 


148  MY  FARM. 

against  firmly  rooted  grass.  From  all  tilled  crops, 
within  whose  lines  there  are  spaces  of  the  brown 
soil  subject  to  the  dews  and  atmospheric  influences, 
trees  will  steal  the  nourishment ;  but  grass,  with  its 
serried  spear-blades  covering  the  ground,  steals  from 
the  tree.  An  open  fallow  with  crops  in  the  inter- 
vals, would  certainly,  if  sustained  for  a  period  of 
years,  have  contributed  far  greater  thrift  than  the 
trees  now  possess.  But  an  open  fallow  is  no  protec- 
tion against  the  curculio  and  the  apple  moth.  If 
there  be  a  protection  so  simple,  and  of  such  propor- 
tions as  to  admit  of  its  application  to  a  marketable 
crop,  I  am  not  yet  informed  of  it.  A  few  worthy 
old  gentlemen  of  my  acquaintance,  catch  a  few  mil- 
lers in  a  deep-necked  bottle,  baited  with  molasses, 
which  is  hung  from  the  limbs  of  some  favorite  tree 
overshadowing  their  pig-pen  ;  and  they  point  with 
pride  to  the  results.  I  certainly  admire  their  suc- 
cesses, but  have  not  been  tempted  to  emulate  them, 
on  the  extended  scale  which  the  mossy  orchard 
would  have  afforded. 

Some  persistent  amateurs  and  pains-taking  gentle- 
men do,  I  know,  succeed  in  making  the  young  fruit 
of  a  few  favorite  plum  trees  distasteful  to  the  cur- 
culio, by  repeated  ejections  of  a  foul  mixture  of  to- 
bacco and  whale-oil  soap,  —  by  which  the  tree  has  a 
weekly  bath,  and  an  odor  of  uncleanness.  But  in 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  149 

view  of  a  large  orchard,  where  apples  make  a  leafy 
pyramid  measured  by  cubic  yards,  and  cherries  carry 
their  fine  fruit  sixty  feet  in  the  air,  there  would  be 
needed  a  projectile  of  dirty  water  that  would  rival 
Alderman  Mechi's  of  Tip-tree  HalL 

It  is  far  easier  to  accomplish  successful  results 
with  an  old  orchard  of  native,  wild  growth,  than 
with  one  of  grafted  fruit ;  —  even  as  the  Doctors 
find  that  a  reprobate  who  has  fallen  away  from 
grace  and  early  good  conduct,  is  a  worse  subject  for 
reformation,  than  an  unkempt  savage. 

The  grafted  tree  wants  an  abounding  luxuriance 
of  material,  from  which  to  elaborate  its  exceeding 
size  and  flavor ;  and  if  by  neglect,  this  material  be 
wanting,  the  organs  of  its  wonderful  living  labora- 
tory shrink  —  from  inaction,  and  part  with  a  share 
of  their  vitality.  The  native  tree,  on  the  other  hand, 
having  no  special  call  upon  it  for  the  elaboration  of 
daintier  juices  than  go  to  supply  a  cider  vat,  has 
steady  normal  development  under  all  its  mosses,  and 
retains  a  stock  of  reserved  vitality,  which,  if  you 
humor  with  good  tillage  and  dressings,  and  point 
with  good  grafts,  will  carry  a  good  tale  to  the  apple 
bin. 

On  the  very  orchard  I  have  named,  were  some  two 
or  three  uncouth,  lumbering,  unpromising  trees,  yet 
sound  as  a  nut  to  their  outermost  twigs,  which  the 


150  MY  FARM. 

simple  dressings,  tillage,  and  washings  that  were 
bestowed  somewhat  vainly  upon  the  others,  quick- 
ened into  a  marvellous  luxuriance  ;  and  the  few 
shoots  I  set  upon  them  are  now  supplying  the  best 
fruit  of  the  orchard.  Even  these,  however,  are  not 
free  from  the  pestilent  stings  which  the  swarms  of 
winged  visitors  inflict  upon  every  crop. 

It  is  very  questionable  if  ploughing  is,  upon  the 
whole,  the  best  way  of  reinstating  a  neglected  and 
barren  orchard.  It  is  a  harsh  method ;  trees  strug- 
gling to  keep  up  a  good  appearance  under  adverse 
circumstances  —  like  men  —  use  every  imaginable 
shift ;  their  little  spongiole  feeders  go  off  on  wide 
search ;  they  are  multiplied  by  the  diversity  of 
labor ;  and  the  plough  cuts  into  them  cruelly,  mak- 
ing crude  butcher  work  where  the  nicest  surgery  is 
demanded.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  a  deep 
trench,  sunk  around  each  tree,  at  the  distance  of 
from  eight  to  ten  feet  from  the  trunk,  and  filled  with 
good  lime  compost,  is  the  surest  way  of  redeeming 
a  neglected  orchard.  Even  then,  however,  the  turf 
should  be  carefully  removed  within  the  enclosed 
circle,  that  the  air  and  its  influences  may  have  pene- 
trative power  upon  the  soil.  The  method  is  Bacon- 
ian (fodiendo  et  aperiendo  terram  circa  radices  ip- 
sarum) ;  it  is  thorough,  but  it  is  expensive  ;  and  a 
farmer  must  consider  well  —  if  his  trees,  soil,  mar- 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  151 

ket,  and  the  populousness  of  the  insect  world  will 
warrant  it. 

For  my  own  part,  so  far  as  regards  a  market  crop 
of  winter  fruit,  I  have  decided  very  thoroughly  in 
the  negative.  Not  that  it  cannot  be  grown  with 
sufficient  care  ;  but  that  it  can  be  grown  far  more 
cheaply,  and  of  a  better  quality,  in  other  regions. 
Summer  fruit  is  not  so  long  exposed  to  the  depre- 
dations of  insects,  nor  will  it  bear  distant  transpor- 
tation. Its  freshness  too,  gives  it  a  virtue,  and  a 
relishy  smack,  which  warrant  special  pains-taking. 

I  find  in  an  old  book  of  Gervase  Markham's, 
"  The  Countrie  Farme  "  (based  upon  Liebault),  that 
the  apple  tree  "  loveth  to  have  the  inward  part  of 
his  wood  moist  and  sweatie,  so  you  must  give  him 
his  lodging  in  a  fat,  black,  and  moist  ground  ;  and 
if  it  be  planted  in  a  gravelly  and  sandie  ground,  it 
must  be  helped  with  watering,  and  batling  with 
dung  and  smal  moulde  in  the  time  of  Autumne.  It 
liveth  and  continueth  in  all  desirable  good  estate  in 
the  hills  and  mountains  where  it  may  have  fresh 
moisture,  being  the  thing  that  it  searcheth  after, 
but  even  there  it  must  stand  in  the  open  face  of  the 
South." 

The  ruling  is  good  now,  with  the  exception  per- 
haps of  exposure  to  the  South,  in  regions  liable  to 
late  spring  frosts.  And  whatever  may  be  the  advan- 


152  My  FARM. 

tages  of  soil  and  of  position,  let  no  man  hope  for 
large  commercial  results  in  apple-growing  at  the 
East,  without  reckoning  upon  as  thorough  and  as- 
siduous culture  as  he  would  give  to  his  corn  crop  ; 
—  as  well  as  a  constant  battle  with  the  borers  and 
bark  lice,  —  intermittent  campaigns  against  the  cat- 
erpillar and  canker-worm,  and  a  great  June  raid 
upon  the  whole  guerrilla  band  of  curculios. 

The  cherries,  a  venerable  company  of  trees,  have 
borne  the  scrapings  and  dressings  with  great  equa- 
nimity, —  being  too  old  to  be  pushed  into  any  wan- 
ton luxuriance,  and  too  sedate  to  show  any  great  ex- 
hilaration from  the  ammoniacal  salts.  Pruning  is 
not  much  recommended  in  the  books ;  yet  I  have 
succeeded  in  restoring  a  good  rounded  head  of  fruit- 
bearing  wood  by  severe  amputation  of  begummed 
and  black-stained  limbs  ;  this  is  specially  true  of  the 
Black-hearts  and  Tartarians,  —  of  many  of  which  I 
have  made  mere  pollards. 

It  is  a  delicate  fruit  to  be  counted  among  farm 
crops,  and  hands  used  to  the  plough  are  apt  to 
grapple  it  too  harshly.  Pliny  says  it  should  be  eaten 
fresh  from  the  tree ;  and  it  is  as  true  of  our  best 
varieties,  as  it  was  of  the  Julian  cherry  in  the  first 
century.  It  will  not  tolerate  long  jogging  in  a  coun- 
try wagon  ;  it  will  not  "keep  over  "  for  a  market ; 
and  between  these  drawbacks,  and  the  birds  —  who 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  153- 

troop  in  flocks  to  the  June  feast,  —  and  the  boy 
pickers  —  who  take  toll  as  they  climb,  —  and  the 
outstanding  twigs,  which  shake  defiance  to  all  lad- 
ders and  climbers  —  I  think  he  is  a  fortunate  man 
•who  can  market  from  forty-year-old  trees,  one  bushel 
in  three. 

Of  the  position  for  a  cherry  orchard,  and  of  its 
likings  in  the  way  of  soil  and  climate,  nothing  better 
can  be  said,  than  Palladius  wrote  fourteen  centuries 
ago :  "  Cerasus  amat  coeli  statum  frigidum,  solum 
vero  positionis  humectce.  In  tepidis  regionibus  parva 
provenit.  Calidum  non  potest  sustinere.  Montana, 
vel  in  collibus  constituta  regione  laetatur"  *  —  which 
means  that  —  cherries  want  a  cool  air  and  moist  land. 
Heat  hurts  them,  and  makes  them  small,  and  they 
delight  in  a  hilly  country. 


The  Pears. 

ri  ij±to  condition  of  the  pears  was  far  worse  than 
-*•  that  of  either  cherries  or  apples.  Had  they 
been  seedlings  of  the  native  fruit,  they  would  have 
shown  more  stalwart  size,  and  better  promise  from 
good  treatment.  There  was,  I  remember,  a  long 

*  Lib.  xi.,  Tit.  12. 


154  MY  FARM. 

weakly  row  of  the  Madeleine,  shrouded  in  lichens, 
and  with  their  lank  frail  limbs  all  tipped  with  dead 
wood.  It  is  an  enticing  fruit,  by  reason  of  its  early 
ripening,  and  its  pleasant  sprightly  flavor ;  but  its 
persistent  inclination  to  rot  at  the  core,  in  most  soils, 
makes  it  a  very  unprofitable  one.  I  forthwith  cut 
away  their  dying,  straggling  tops,  and  by  repeated 
diggings  about  the  roots,  stimulated  a  growth  of 
new  wood,  upon  which  luxuriant  grafts  are  now  (six 
years  after  commencement  of  operations)  bearing 
full  crops  of  more  approved  varieties.  The  Jargo- 
nelles were  almost  past  cure.  Long  struggle  with 
neglect  had  nearly  paralyzed  their  vegetative  power  ; 
but  by  setting  a  few  scions  of  such  rank  growers  as 
the  Buffum  upon  the  most  promising  of  the  purple 
shoots,  I  have  met  with  fair  success.  The  Jargo- 
nelle itself,  I  may  remark  in  passing,  seems  to  me 
not  fitly  appreciated  in  the  race  after  new  French 
varieties.  It  has  a  juiciness,  a  crispness,  and  a  vinous 
flavor,  which  however  scorned  by  the  later  pomoio- 
gists,  are  exceedingly  grateful  on  a  hot  August 
day. 

There  was  a  great  rank  of  Virgouleuse  (white 
Doyenne)  —  pinched  in  their  foliage,  with  bark 
knotted  like  that  of  forest  trees,  and  bearing  only 
cracked,  meagre,  woody  fruit.  For  New  England  it 
is  a  lost  variety.  Happily,  however,  its  boughs  take 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  155 

grafts  with  great  kindliness ;  and  I  have  now  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  fair  full  heads  upon  every  one  of 
these  out-lived  stocks,  of  the  Bartlett,  Flemish 
Beauty,  Bonne  de  Jersey,  and  Lawrence. 

There  were  not  a  few  Buffum  trees  in  the  ranks, 
which  were  in  a  state  of  most  extraordinary  dilapi- 
dation ;  their  trunks  white  with  moss,  their  upright 
shoots  completely  covered  with  a  succession  of 
crooked,  gnarled,  mossy  fruit  spurs,  that  crinkled 
under  the  scraper  like  dried  brambles ;  the  ex- 
tremity of  every  upright  bough  was  reduced  to  a 
shrivelled  point  of  blackened  and  sun-dried  wood, 
and  the  fruit  so  dwarfed  as  to  puzzle  the  most  astute 
of  the  pomologists. 

I  made  a  clean  sweep  of  the  old  fruit  spurs,  — 
docked  the  limbs,  —  scraped  the  bark  to  the  quick, 
—  washed  with  an  unctuous  soapy  mixture,  —  dug 
about  and  enriched  the  roots,  and  in  three  years' 
time,  there  were  new  leading  shoots,  all  garnished 
with  fresh  fruit  spurs  —  which  in  September  fairly 
broke  away  with  the  weight  of  the  glowing  pears. 

The  Seckels,  of  which  there  were  several  trees, 
have  not  come  so  promptly  "to  time."  The  fertil- 
izers and  the  cleaning  process,  which  have  given  ram- 
pant vigor  to  the  Buffums,  have  scarce  lent  to  the 
dwindled  Seckels  any  appreciable  increase  of  size  or 
of  succulence.  The  same  is  true,  in  a  less  degree, 


156  MY  FARM. 

of  certain  old  stocks,  grafted  some  fifteen  years  ago 
with  Bonne  de  Jersey,  and  since  left  to  struggle 
with  choking  mosses,  and  wild  sod. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  enumerate  all  the  varieties 
which  I  found  stifling  in  my  orchard,  —  from  the 
bright  little  Harvest  pear  to  the  crimson-cheeked 
Bon-Chretien.  Here  and  there  I  have  religiously 
guarded  some  old  variety  of  Sugar-pear,  or  of  Ber- 
gamot,  —  by  reason  of  the  pleasant  associations  of 
their  names,  and  by  reason  of  an  old-fashioned  re- 
gard which  I  still  entertain  for  their  homeliness  of 
flavor.  I  sometimes  have  a  visit  from  a  pear-fancier, 
who  boasts  of  his  fifty  or  hundred  varieties,  —  who 
confounds  me  with  his  talk  of  a  Beurre  St.  Nicholas, 
or  a  Beurre  of  Waterloo,  and  a  Doyenne  Goubault, 
or  a  Doyenne  Robin  ;  I  try  to  listen,  as  if  I  appre- 
ciated his  learning ;  but  I  do  not.  My  tastes  are 
simple  in  this  direction  ;  and  I  feel  a  blush  of  con- 
scious humility  when  he  comes  upon  one  of  my  old- 
time  trees,  staggering  under  a  load  of  fruit  —  which 
is  not  in  the  books.  It  is  very  much  as  if  a  gentle- 
man of  the  Universities,  full  of  his  book  lore,  were  to 
stroll  into  my  library,  —  talking  of  his  Dibdins,  and 
Elzevirs,  and  Brunets  ;  —  with  what  a  blush  I  should 
see  his  eye  fall  upon  certain  thumb-worn  copies  of 
Tom  Jones,  or  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  or  Defoe  ! 

Yet  these  gentlemen  of  the  special  knowledges 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  157 

have  their  uses  —  the  pear-mongers  with  the  rest. 
Not  a  season  passes,  but  they  discover  and  label  for 
us  a  host  of  worthless  varieties.  I  only  object  to  the 
scornful  way  in  which  they  ignore  a  great  many 
established  favorites,  which  people  will  persist  in 
buying  and  eating.  I  remember  that  I  once  had  the 
hardihood,  in  a  little  group  of  pomological  gentle- 
men, to  express  a  modest  opinion  in  praise  of  the 
flavor  of  the  Bartlett  pear. 

The  gentlemen  did  not  deign  a  reply  ;  but  I  was 
looked  upon  very  much  as  a  greenhorn  might  be, 
who  at  a  political  caucus  should  venture  a  word  or 
two,  in  favor  of — honesty. 

Quince  stocks  for  pear  trees  have  their  advocates  ; 
and  there  has  been  a  very  pretty  war  between  the 
battlers  for  the  standards,  and  the  battlers  for  the 
dwarfs.  Having  made  trial  of  both,  and  consider- 
ing that  most  human  opinions  are  fallible,  I  plant 
myself  upon  neutral  ground,  and  venture  to  affirm 
that  each  mode  of  culture  has  its  advantages.  There 
are,  for  instance,  varieties  of  the  pear,  which,  in  cer- 
tain localities,  will  not  thrive,  or  produce  fair  speci- 
mens, without  incorporation  upon  the  quince  stock. 
Such,  in  my  experience,  are  the  Duchess  d'Angou- 
leme,  and  the  Vicar  of  Winkfield.  The  finest  fruit  of 
the  Belle  Lucrative,  and  the  Bonne  de  Jersey,  I  also 
invariably  take  from  dwarf  growth. 


158  MY  FARM. 

The  dwarf  trees,  however,  demand  very  special 
and  thorough  culture  ;  if  the  season  is  dry,  they 
must  be  watered  ;  if  the  ground  is  baked,  it  must  be 
stirred.  I  look  upon  them  as  garden  pets,  which 
must  be  fondled  and  humored  ;  and  like  other  pets, 
they  are  sure  to  be  attacked  by  noxious  diseases. 
They  take  the  leaf-blight  as  easily  as  a  child  takes 
the  mumps ;  they  are  capricious  and  uncertain  — 
sometimes  repaying  you  for  your  care  well ;  and 
other  times,  dropping  all  their  fruit  in  a  green  state, 
in  the  most  petulant  way  imaginable.  And  worst  of 
all,  after  two  or  three  years  of  devoted  nursing, 
without  special  cause,  and  with  all  their  leaves  laugh- 
ing on  them,  some  group  of  two  or  three  together 
—  suddenly  die. 

Early  bearing,  and  brilliant  specimens  favor  the 
quince  ;  but  hardiness,  long  life,  and  full  crops  favor 
the  pear  upon  its  own  roots.  If  a  man  plant  the 
latter,  he  must  needs  wait  for  the  fruit.  Mceris  puts 
it  very  prettily  in  the  Eclogue  : — 

"  Insere,  Daphni,  pyros:  carpent  tua  poma  nepotes." 

But  if  a  man  with  only  a  few  perches  of  garden, 
and  with  an  aptitude  for  nursing,  desires  fruit  the 
second  or  third  year  after  planting,  let  him  by  all 
means  —  plant  the  dwarfs.  Yet  even  then  his  sue- 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  159 

cess  is  uncertain,  —  particularly  if  he  indulges  in  the 
' '  latest  varieties."  I  am  compelled  to  say  that  I  have 
known  several  cautious  old  gentlemen,  who  —  with 
a  garden  full  of  dwarf  trees,  —  have  been  seen  in  the 
month  of  September,  to  slip  into  a  fruit  shop  at  the 
edge  of  evening,  with  suspicious-looking,  limp  pan- 
niers on  their  arms.  Nay,  —  I  have  myself  met  them 
returning  from  such  furtive  errand,  with  a  basket 
laden  from  the  fruiterer's  stock,  carefully  hidden 
under  their  skirts  ;  and  I  have  gone  my  way  —  (pre- 
tending not  to  see  it  all),  humming  to  myself, 

carpent  tua  poma  nepotes ! 

Want  of  success  in  orcharding  is  more  often  at- 
tributable to  want  of  care,  than  to  any  other  want 
whatever.  There  are,  indeed,  particular  belts  of 
land  which  seem  to  favor  the  apple,  —  where,  with 
only  moderate  cultivation,  they  are  free  from  leaf 
blight,  —  comparatively  free  from  insect  depredat- 
ors, and  fruit  with  certainty.  There  are  other  re- 
gions, —  and  these,  so  far  as  I  have  observed,  warm 
soils  inclining  to  a  sandy  or  gravelly  loam,  in  which 
the  apple  does  not  show  vigor,  except  under  extra- 
ordinary attention,  and  in  which  the  whole  insect 
tribe  seems  doubly  pestiferous. 

The  pear  is  by  no  means  so  capricious ;  it  will 


160  MY  FARM. 

thrive  in  a  heavy  loam  ;  it  will  thrive  in  light  sand  ; 
the  borer  does  not  attack  its  root ;  the  caterpillar 
moth  does  not  fasten  its  eggs  (or  very  rarely)  upon 
its  twigs  ;  the  apple-moth  spares  a  large  proportion 
of  its  fruit.  But  even  the  pear,  without  care  and 
cultivation,  will  disappoint ;  and  the  farmer  who  neg- 
lects any  crop,  will  find,  sooner  or  later,  that  what- 
ever is  worth  planting,  is  worth  planting  well ;  what- 
ever is  worth  cultivating,  is  worth  cultivating  well ; 
and  that  nothing  is  worth  harvesting,  that  is  not 
worth  harvesting  with  care. 


My  Garden. 

T  ENTER  upon  my  garden  by  a  little,  crazy,  rustic 
•*"  wicket,  over  which  a  Virginia  creeper  has  tossed 
itself  into  a  careless  tangle  of  festoons.  The  en- 
trance is  overshadowed  by  a  cherry-tree,  which  must 
be  nearly  half  a  century  old,  and  which,  as  it  niches 
easily  very  much  of  the  fertilizing  material  that  is 
bestowed  upon  the  garden,  makes  a  weightier  show 
of  fruit  than  can  be  boasted  by  any  of  the  orchard 
company. 

A  broad  walk  leads  down  the  middle  of  the  gar- 
den, —  bordered  on  either  side  by  a  range  of  stout 
box,  and  interrupted  midway  of  its  length  by  a  box- 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  161 

edged  circle,  that  is  filled  and  crowned  with  one 
cone-shaped  Norway-Spruce.  These  lines,  and  this 
circlet  of  idle  green,  are  its  only  ornamentation. 
Easterly  of  the  walk  is  a  sudden  terrace  slope, 
stocked  with  currants,  raspberries,  and  all  the  lesser 
fruits,  in  a  maze  of  belts  and  curves.  Westward  is 
a  level  open  space,  devoted  to  long  parallel  lines  of 
garden  vegetables.  The  slope,  by  reason  of  its  sur- 
face and  its  crops,  is  subject  only  to  fork-culture  ;  the 
western  half,  on  the  other  hand,  has  the  economy  of 
deep  and  thorough  trench-ploughing,  every  autumn 
and  spring. 

Nor  is  this  an  economy  to  be  overlooked  by  a 
farmer.  Very  many,  without  pretensions  to  that 
nicety  of  culture  which  is  supposed  to  belong  to 
spade  husbandry  alone,  so  overstock  their  gardens 
with  confused  and  intercepting  lines  of  fruit  shrub- 
bery, and  perennial  herbs,  as  to  forbid  any  thorough 
action  of  the  plough.  By  the  simple  device,  how- 
ever, of  giving  to  the  garden  the  shape  of  a  long 
parallelogram,  and  arranging  its  trees,  shrubbery, 
and  walks,  in  lines  parallel  with  its  length,  and  by 
establishing  easy  modes  of  ingress  and  egress  at 
either  end,  the  plough  will  prove  a  great  econo- 
mizer; and  under  careful  handling,  will  leave  as 
even  a  surface,  and  as  fine  a  tilth  as  follows  the 

spade.     I  make  this  suggestion  in  the   interest  of 
it 


1 62  MY  FARM. 

those  farmers  who  are  compelled  to  measure  nar- 
rowly the  cost  of  tillage,  and  who  cannot  indulge  in 
the  amateur  weakness  of  wasted  labor. 

I  have  provided  also  a  leafy  protection  for  this 
garden  against  the  sweep  of  winds  from  the  north- 
west :  northward,  this  protection  consists  of  a  wild 
belt  of  tangled  growth  —  sumacs,  hickories,  cedars, 
wild-cherries,  oaks  —  separated  from  the  northern 
walk  of  the  garden,  by  a  trim  hedge-row  of  hemlock- 
spruce.  This  tangled  belt  is  of  a  spontaneous 
growth,  and  has  shot  up  upon  a  strip  of  the  neg- 
lected pasture-land,  from  which,  seven  years  since,  I 
trenched  the  area  of  the  garden.  Thus  it  is  not 
only  a  protection,  but  offers  a  pleasant  contrast  of 
what  the  whole  field  might  have  been,  with  what  the 
garden  now  is.  I  must  confess  that  I  love  these 
savage  waymarks  of  progressive  tillage  —  as  I  love 
to  meet  here  and  there,  some  stoli d  old-time  thinker, 
whom  the  rush  of  modern  ideas  has  left  in  pictu- 
resque isolation. 

Time  and  again  some  enterprising  gardener  has 
begged  the  privilege  of  uprooting  this  strip  of  wild- 
ness,  and  trenching  to  the  skirt  of  the  wall  beyond 
it ;  but  I  have  guarded  the  waste  as  if  it  were  a 
crop  ;  the  cheewits  and  thrushes  make  their  nests 
undisturbed  there.  The  long,  firm  gravel-alley  which 
traverses  the  garden  from  north  to  south,  traverses 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  163 

also  this  bit  of  savage  shrubbery,  and  by  a  latticed 
gate,  opens  upon  smooth  grass-lands  beyond,  which 
are  skirted  with  forest. 

"Within  this  tangle-wood,  I  have  set  a  few  graft- 
lings  upon  a  wild-crab,  and  planted  a  peach  or  two 
—  only  to  watch  the  struggle  which  these  artificial 
people  will  make  with  their  wild  neighbors.  And 
so  various  is  the  growth  within  this  limited  belt,  that 
my  children  pick  there,  in  their  seasons,  —  luscious 
dew-berries,  huckle-berries,  wild  raspberries,  bill- 
berries,  and  choke-cherries ;  and  in  autumn,  gather 
bouquets  of  Golden-rod  and  Asters,  set  off  with  crim- 
son tufts  of  Sumac,  and  the  scarlet  of  maple  boughs. 
And  when  I  see  the  brilliancy  of  these,  and  smack 
the  delicate  flavor  of  the  wild-fruit,  it  makes  me 
doubt  if  our  progress  is,  after  all,  as  grand  as  it 
should  be,  or  as  we  vainly  believe  it  to  be  ;  and  (to 
renew  my  parallel)  —  it  seems  to  me  that  the  old- 
time  and  gone-by  thinkers  may  possibly  have  given 
us  as  piquant,  and  marrowy  suggestions  upon  what- 
ever subject  of  human  knowledge  they  touched,  as 
the  hot-house  philosophers  of  to-day.  I  never  open, 
of  a  Sunday  afternoon,  upon  the  yellowed  pages  of 
Jeremy  Taylor,  but  his  flavor  and  affluence,  and 
homely  wealth  of  allusions,  suggest  the  tangled  wild 
of  the  garden  —  with  its  starry  flowers,  its  piquant 
berries,  its  scorn  of  human  rulings,  its  unkempt  vig- 


1 64  MY  FARM. 

or,  its  boughs  and  tendrils  stretching  heaven-ward  ; 
and  I  never  water  a  reluctant  hill  of  yellowed  cucum- 
bers, and  coax  it  with  all  manner  of  concentrated 
fertilizers  into  bearing,  —  but  I  think  of  the  elegant 
education  of  the  dapper  Dr. ,  and  of  the  sap- 
py, and  flavorless  results. 

To  the  westward  of  the  garden,  and  concealing  a 
decrepit  mossy  wall,  that  is  covered  with  blackberry 
vines  and  creepers,  is  the  flanking  shelter  of  another 
hemlock  hedge  of  wanton  luxuriance.  A  city  gar- 
den could  never  yield  the  breadth  it  demands,  but 
upon  the  farm,  the  complete  and  graceful  protection 
it  gives,  is  \vell  purchased,  at  the  cost  of  a  few  feet 
of  land.  Nor  is  much  time  required  for  its  growth  ; 
five  years  since,  and  this  hedge  of  four  feet  in 
height,  by  two  hundred  yards  in  length,  was  all 
brought  away  from  the  wood  in  a  couple  of  market 
baskets. 

The  importance  of  garden  shelter  is  by  no  means 
enough  considered.  I  do  not  indeed  name  my  own 
method  as  the  best  to  be  pursued ;  flanking  build- 
ings or  high  enclosures  may  give  it  more  conven- 
iently in  many  situations ;  a  steep,  sudden  hillside 
may  give  it  best  of  all ;  but  it  should  never  be  for- 
gotten that  while  we  humor  the  garden  soil  with 
what  the  plants  and  trees  best  love,  we  should  also 
give  their  foliage  the  protection  against  storms 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  165 

which  they  covet ;  and  which,  in  an  almost  equal  de- 
gree, contributes  to  their  luxuriance. 

To  the  dwarf  fruit,  as  well  as  to  the  grape,  this 
shelter  is  absolutely  essential ;  if  they  are  compelled 
to  fortify  against  aggressive  blasts,  —  they  may  do  it 
indeed  ;  but  they  will,  in  this  way,  dissipate  a  large 
share  of  the  vitality  which  would  else  go  to  the  fruit. 
Young  cattle  may  bear  the  exposure  of  winter,  but 
they  will  be  sufferers  under  it,  and  take  on  a  pinched 
look  of  age,  and  expend  a  great  stock  of  vital  energy 
in  the  contest. 


Fine  Tilth  makes  Fine  Crops. 

"TTTITH  a  good  situation,  the  secret  of  success 
*  ^  with  garden  crops,  lies  in  the  richness  of  the 
soil,  and  in  its  deep  and  fine  tilth  ;  the  last  being  far 
oftener  wanting  than  the  former.  A  farm  crop  of 
potatoes  or  even  of  corn,  will  make  a  brave  struggle 
amid  coarse  nuggets  of  earth,  if  only  fertilizers  are 
present ;  but  such  fine  feeders  as  belong  to  the  gar- 
den can  lay  no  hold  upon  them  ;  they  want  delicate 
diet.  Farmers  are  often  amazed  by  the  extraordi- 
nary vegetable  results  upon  the  sandy  soil  of  a  city 
dooryard,  which  they  would  count  comparatively 
worthless ;  not  considering,  that  —  aside  from  the 


1 66  MY  FARM. 

shelter  of  brick  walls,  which  make  the  sun  do  double 
duty  —  the  productive  capacity  of  such  city  gardens, 
lies  very  much  in  the  extreme  and  almost  perfect 
comminution  of  the  soiL 

What  is  true  of  garden  earth,  is  true  also  of  its 
fertilizers ;  they  must  be  triturated,  fine,  easily  di- 
gestible. Masses  of  unbroken  farm-yard  material 
are  no  more  suited  to  the  delicate  organization  of 
garden-plants,  than  a  roasted  side  of  bacon  is  suited 
to  a  child's  diet.  They  may  struggle  with  it  indeed. 
Possibly  they  may  reduce  it  to  subjection  ;  but  their 
growth  will  be  rank  and  flavorless,  whatever  size 
they  may  gain. 

It  is  a  common  mistake  to  suppose  that  garden 
products  are  good  in  proportion  to  their  size.  The 
horticultural  societies  have  done  great  harm  in  bol- 
stering the  admiration  for  mere  grossuess.  Smooth- 
ness, roundness,  perfect  development  of  all  the  parts, 
and  delicacy  of  flavor,  are  the  true  tests.  I  remem- 
ber once  offering  for  exhibition  a  little  tray  of  gar- 
den products,  in  which  every  specimen  of  fruit  and 
vegetable — though  by  no  means  all  it  should  have 
been  —  was  perfect  in  outline,  well  developed,  free 
from  every  sting  of  insect  or  excrescence,  and  of  that 
delicate  and  tender  fibre  which  belongs  only  to  swift 
and  unchecked  growth  ;  yet  my  poor  tray  was  over- 
slaughed entirely  by  an  adjoining  show  of  monster 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  167 

vegetables,  with  warty  excrescences,  and  of  rank 
and  wholly  abnormal  development.  The  committee 
would  have  been  properly  punished  if  they  had  been 
compelled  to  eat  them. 

In  the  same  way,  and  with  equal  fatuity,  the  so- 
cieties for  agricultural  encouragement  persist  in 
giving  premiums  to  —  so  called  —  fat  cattle  ;  mere 
monsters  —  not  of  good,  wholesome,  muscular  fibre, 
well-mottled  —  but  mountains  of  adipose  substance, 
which  no  Christian  can  eat,  and  which  are  only  dis- 
posed of  profitably,  by  serving  as  an  advertisement 
to  some  venturesome  landlord,  from  whose  table  the 
reeking  fat  goes  to  the  soap-pot. 

Grossness  does  not  absorb  excellence,  or  even 
imply  it  —  either  in  the  animal  or  vegetable  world. 
I  have  never  yet  chanced  to  taste  the  monstrosities 
which  the  generous  Californians  sometimes  send  us 
in  the  shape  of  pears ;  but  without  knowing,  I  would 
venture  the  wager  of  a  bushel  of  Bartletts,  that  one 
of  our  own,  little,  jolly,  red-cheeked  Seckels  would 
outmatch  them  thoroughly  —  in  flavor,  in  piquancy, 
and  in  vinous  richness. 

Shall  the  flaunting  Dahlia  match  us  a  Rose  ?  Yet 
the  dahlia  has  its  place  too  ;  it  gives  scenic  effect ; 
its  tall  stiffness  tells  in  the  distance  ;  but  we  have  a 
thousand  roses  at  every  hand. 

I  sometimes  fear  that  this  disposition  to  set  the 


1 68  MY  FARM. 

mere  grossness  of  a  thing  above  its  finer  qualities, 
is  an  American  weakness.  We  do  not  forget,  so 
often  as  we  might  to  advantage  —  that  we  are  a 
great  people.  That  eagle  which  our  Fourth  of  July 
orators  paint  for  our  delighted  optics,  dipping  his 
wings  in  both  oceans,  is  the  merest  buzzard  of  a 
bird,  except  he  have  more  virtue  in  him  than  mere 
size. 

Seeding  and  Trenching. 

TF  there  is  one  fault  above  another  in  all  the  gar- 
~*~  dening  books,  it  is  the  lack  of  those  simplest  of 
directions  and  suggestions,  without  which  the  novice 
is  utterly  at  fault  Thus,  we  are  told  in  what  month 
to  sow  a  particular  seed  —  that  it  must  have  a  loamy 
soil ;  and  are  favored  with  some  special  learning  in 
regard  to  its  varieties,  and  its  Linnsean  classification. 

"Pat,"  we  say,  "this  seed  must  be  planted  in  a 
loamy  soil." 

Pat,  (scratching  his  head  reflectively) :  "  And 
shure,  isn't  it  in  the  garden  thin,  ye'd  be  afther 
planting  the  seed  ?  " 

Pat's  observation  is  a  just  one  ;  of  course  we  buy 
our  seed  to  plant  in  the  garden,  no  matter  what  soil 
it  may  love.  The  more  important  information  in 
regard  to  the  depth  of  sowing  it,  the  mode  of  apply- 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  169 

ing  any  needed  dressing,  the  requisite  thinning,  the 
insect  depredators,  and  the  mode  of  defeating  them 
—  is,  for  the  most  part,  withheld.    That  the  matter 
is  not  without  importance,  one  will  understand  who 
finds,  year  after  year,  his  more  delicate  seeds  failing, 
and  the  wild  and  attentive  Irishman  declaring, — 
"  And,  begorra  thin,  it's  the  ould  seed." 
"  But  did  you  sow  it  properly,  Patrick  ?" 
"  Didn't  I,  faith  ?    I  byried  'em  an  inch  if  I  byried 
'em  at  all" 

An  inch  of  earth  will  do  for  some  seeds,  but  for 
others,  it  is  an  Irish  burial  —  without  the  wake. 

The  conditions  of  germination  are  heat,  air,  and 
moisture.  Covering  should  not  be  so  shallow  as  to 
forego  the  last,  nor  so  deep  as  to  sacrifice  the  other 
essential  influences.  Heat  alone  will  not  do  ;  air  and 
moisture  alone  will  not  do.  A  careful  gardener  will 
be  guided  by  the  condition  of  his  soil,  and  the  char- 
acter of  his  seed.  If  this  have  hard  woody  covering 
like  the  seed  of  the  beet,  he  will  understand  that  it 
demands  considerable  depth  to  secure  the  moisture 
requisite  to  swell  the  kernel ;  or  that  it  should  be 
aided  by  a  steep,  before  sowing.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  be  a  light  fleecy  seed,  like  the  parsnip,  he 
will  perceive  the  necessity  of  bringing  the  earth 
firmly  in  contact  with  it. 

As  a  general  rule,  the  depth  of  covering  should 


1 70  MY  FARM. 

not  exceed  two  or  three  times  the  shortest  diameter 
of  the  seed  ;  this  plainly  involves  so  light  a  covering 
for  the  lettuces,  parsley,  and  celery,  that  a  judicious 
gardener  will  effect  it  by  simply  sifting  over  them  a 
sprinkling  of  fine  loam,  which  he  will  presently  wet 
down  thoroughly  (unless  the  sun  is  at  high  noon), 
with  his  water-pot  —  medicined  with  a  slight  pinch 
of  guano. 

For  a  good  garden,  as  I  have  said,  a  deep  rich  soil 
is  essential ;  and  to  this  end  trenching  is  desirable  ; 
but  trenching  will  not  always  secure  it,  for  the  pal- 
pable reason  that  subsoil  is  not  soil  I  have  met  with 
certain,  awkward  confirmatory  experiences,  —  where 
a  delicate  garden  mould  of  some  ten  inches  in  depth, 
which  would  have  made  fair  show  of  the  lesser  vege- 
tables, has  been,  by  the  frenzy  of  trenching,  buried 
under  fourteen  inches  of  villainous  gravelly  hard- 
pan,  brought  up  from  below,  in  which  all  seeds  sick- 
ened, and  all  plants  turned  pale.  "Whatever  be  the 
depth  of  tillage,  it  is  essential  that  the  surface  show 
a  fine  tilth  of  friable,  light,  unctuous  mould ;  the 
young  plants  need  it  to  gain  strength  for  a  foray 
below.  And  yet  I  have  seen  inordinate  sums  ex- 
pended, for  the  sake  of  burying  a  few  inches  of  such 
choice  moulds,  under  a  foot-thick  coverlid  of  the 
dreariest  and  rawest  yellow  gravel  that  ever  held  its 
cheerless  face  to  the  sun. 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  171 

The  amateur  fanner,  however,  is  not  staggered  by 
any  such  difficulties  ;  indeed,  he  courts  them,  and 

• 

delights  in  making  conquest.  They  make  good  seed- 
bed for  his  theories  —  far  better  than  for  his  carrots. 
Let  me  do  no  discredit,  however,  to  "  trenching," 
which  in  the  right  place,  and  rightly  performed,  by 
thorough  admixture,  is  most  effective  and  judicious  ; 
nor  should  any  thoroughly  good  garden  be  estab- 
lished upon  soil  which  will  not  admit  of  it,  and  jus- 
tify it.  If  otherwise,  my  advice  is,  not  to  trench, 
but  —  sell  to  an  amateur. 


How  a  Garden  should  Look. 

aesthetic  element  does  not  abound  in  the 
minds  of  country  farmers  ;  and  there  is  not 
one  in  a  thousand  who  has  any  conception  of  a  gar- 
den, save  as  a  patch  (always  weedy)  where  the  good- 
wife  can  pluck  a  few  condiments  for  dinner.  If  you 
visit  one,  he  may  possibly  take  you  to  see  a  "  likely 
yearling,"  or  a  corn  crop,  but  rarely  to  his  garden. 
Yet  there  is  no  economic  reason  why  a  farmer's  gar- 
den should  not  make  as  good  and  as  orderly  a  show, 
as  his  field  crops. 

A  straight  line  is  not  greatly  more  difficult  to 
make  than  a  crooked  one.     The  absurd  borders,  in- 


1 72  My  FARM. 

deed,  where  dirt  is  thrown  into  line,  and  beaten 
with  a  spade,  is  a  mere  caprice,  which  there  is  no 

» 

need  to  imitate  ;  but  the  neatness  which  belongs  to 
true  lines  of  plants,  regular  intervals  between  crops, 
perfect  cleanliness,  is  another  matter  ;  and  is  so 
feasible  and  so  telling  in  effect,  that  no  farmer  has 
good  excuse  for  neglecting  it  Effective  groupings, 
again,  of  dwarf  trees  and  fruit  shrubbery,  whether 
in  rows,  curves,  or  by  gradations  of  size,  give  points 
of  interest,  and  contribute  to  the  attractions  of  a 
garden. 

It  is  not  a  little  odd  that  the  back-country  gentle- 
man, who  replies  to  all  such  suggestions,  that  he 
cares  nothing  for  appearances  —  shall  yet  never  ven- 
ture to  a  militia  muster,  or  a  town  meeting,  without 
slipping  into  the  "press  "  for  the  old  black-coat,  and 
the  black  beaver  (giving  it  a  coquettish  wipe  with 
his  elbow)  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  startling  shirt- 
collars,  whose  poise  he  studies  before  the  keeping- 
room  mirror. 

He  contracts  too  for  a  staring  white  coat  of  paint 
upon  his  house  and  palings,  and  a  mahogany-col- 
ored door,  out  of  the  same  irresistible  regard  to 
"what  people  will  say."  But  in  all  this,  he  does 
not  do  one  half  so  much  for  the  education  of  his 
children  into  a  perception  of  order  and  elegance,  as 
if  he  bestowed  the  same  core  upon  the  neatness  of 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  173 

his  yard  and  garden,  where  their  little  feet  wander 
every  day. 

It  would  be  hard  to  estimate  the  educating  effect 
of  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries  and  Luxembourg 
upon  the  minds  of  those  artisans  of  Paris,  who,  liv- 
ing in  garrets,  and  too  poor  for  anything  more  than 
a  little  rustic  tray  of  flowers  upon  their  window 
ledge,  are  yet  possessed  of  a  perception  of  grace, 
which  shines  in  all  their  handiwork.  And  if  you 
transport  them  to  the  country  —  their  own  Auvergne 
or  Normandy  —  they  cannot,  if  they  would,  make 
slatternly  gardens  :  they  will  not  indeed  repeat  the 
brilliant  tints  of  Paris  flowers  ;  they  cannot  rival  the 
variety  ;  but  they  can  stamp  lines  of  grace,  and  har- 
mony of  arrangement  upon  the  merest  door-yard  of 
vegetables  and  pot-herbs. 

Here  let  me  outline,  in  brief,  what  a  farmer's  gar- 
den may  be  made,  without  other  than  home-labor. 
A  broad  walk  shall  run  down  the  middle  of  either  a 
square  enclosure,  or  long  parallelogram.  A  box 
edging  upon  either  side  is  of  little  cost,  and  contrib- 
utes eminently  to  neatness;  it  will  hold  good  for  eight 
years,  without  too  great  encroachment,  and  at  that 
time,  will  often  sell  to  the  nurserymen  for  more  than 
enough  to  pay  the  cost  of  resetting.  On  either  side 
of  this  walk,  in  a  border  of  six  feet  wide,  the  farmer 
may  plant  his  dwarf-fruit,  with  grapes  at  intervals  to 


174  MY  FARM. 

climb  upon  a  home-made  cedar  trellis,  that  shall 
overarch  and  embower  the  walk.  If  he  love  an 
evening  pipe  in  his  garden,  he  may  plant  some 
simple  seat  under  one  or  more  of  these  leafy 
arbors.  . 

At  least  one-half  of  the  garden,  as  I  before  sug- 
gested, he  may  easily  arrange,  to  till,  —  spring  and 
autumn,  —  with  the  plough  ;  and  whatever  he  places 
there  in  the  way  of  tree  and  shrub,  must  be  in  lines 
parallel  with  the  walk.  On  the  other  half,  he  will 
be  subjected  to  no  such  limitations ;  there,  he  will 
establish  his  perennials  —  his  asparagus,  his  thyme, 
his  sage,  and  parsley  ;  his  rhubarb,  his  gooseberries, 
strawberries,  and  raspberries ;  and  in  an  angle  — 
hidden  if  he  choose  by  a  belt  of  shrubbery  —  he 
may  have  his  hotbed  and  compost  heap.  Fork-cul- 
ture, which  all  these  crops  demand,  will  admit  of 
any  arrangement  he  may  prefer,  and  he  may  enliven 
the  groupings,  and  win  the  goodwife's  favor,  by  here 
and  there  a  little  circlet  of  such  old-fashioned 
flowers  as  tulips  —  yellow  lilies  and  white,  with 
roses  of  all  shades. 

Upon  the  other  half  he  may  make  distribution  of 
parts,  by  banding  the  various  crops  with  border  lines 
of  China  or  Refugee  beans  ;  and  he  may  split  the 
whole  crosswise,  by  a  walk  overarched  with  climbing 
Limas,  or  the  London  Horticultural  —  setting  off  the 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  175 

two  ends  with  an  abutment  of  Scarlet-runners,  and 
a  surbase  of  fiery  Nasturtium. 

There  are  also  available  and  pretty  devices  for 
making  the  land  do  double  duty.  The  border  lines 
of  China-beans,  which  will  be  ripened  in  early  Au- 
gust, may  have  Swedes  sown  in  their  shadow  in  the 
first  days  of  July,  so  that  when  the  Chinas  have  ful- 
filled their  mission,  there  shall  be  a  new  line  of  pur- 
ple green  in  their  place.  The  early  radishes  and 
salads  may  have  their  little  circlets  of  cucumber  pits, 
no  way  interfering  with  the  first,  and  covering  the 
ground  when  the  first  are  done.  The  early  Bassano 
beets  will  come  away  in  time  to  leave  space  for  the 
full  flow  of  the  melons  that  have  been  planted  at 
intervals  among  them.  The  cauliflower  will  find 
grateful  shade  under  the  lines  of  sweet  corn,  and  the 
newly-set  winter  cabbages,  a  temporary  refuge  from 
the  sun,  under  shelter  of  the  ripened  peas.  I  do  not 
make  these  suggestions  at  random,  but  as  the  results 
of  actual  and  successful  experience. 

With  such  simple  and  orderly  arrangement,  in- 
volving no  excessive  labor,  I  think  every  farmer  and 
country-  liver  may  take  pleasure  in  his  garden  as  an 
object  of  beauty ;  —  making  of  it  a  little  farm  in 
miniature,  with  its  coppices  of  dwarf-trees,  its  hedge- 
rows of  currants  and  gooseberries,  and  its  meadows 
of  strawberries  and  thyme.  From  the  very  day  on 


176  My  FARM. 

which,  in  spring,  he  sees  the  first,  faint,  upheaving, 
tufted  lines  of  green  from  his  Dan-OTlourkes,  to  the 
day  when  the  dangling  Limas,  and  sprawling,  bloody 
tomatoes  are  smitten  by  the  frost,  it  offers  a  field  of 
constant  progress,  and  of  successive  triumphs.  Line 
by  line,  and  company  by  company,  the  army  of  green 
things  take  position  ;  the  little  flowery  banners  are 
flung  to  the  wind ;  and  lo !  presently  every  soldier 
of  them  all  —  plundering  only  the  earth  and  the  sun- 
shine —  is  loaded  with  booty. 


The  Lesser  Fruits. 

"TT^ROM  the  time  when  I  read  of  Mistress  Doctor 
"*"  Primrose's  gooseberry  wine,  which  the  Doctor 
celebrates  in  his  charming  autobiography,  I  have 
entertained  a  kindly  regard  for  that  fruit  But  my 
efforte  to  grow  it  successfully  have  been  sadly 
baffled.  The  English  climate  alone,  I  think,  will 
bring  it  to  perfection.  I  know  not  how  many  ven- 
tures I  have  made  with  " Roaring-Lion,"  "Brown 
Bob,"  "  Conquerors,"  and  other  stupendous  varie- 
ties ;  but  without  infinite  care,  after  the  first  crop — 
the  mildew  will  catch  and  taint  them.  Our  native 
varieties,  —  such,  for  instance,  as  the  Houghton- 
seedling,  make  a  better  show,  and  with  ordinary 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  177 

care,  can  be  fruited  well  for  a  succession  of  seasons. 
But  it  is  not,  after  all,  the  stanch  old  English  berry, 
which  pants  for  the  fat  English  gardens,  for  the 
scent  of  hawthorn,  and  for  the  lowering  fog-banks 
of  Lancashire. 

Garden  associations  (with  those  who  entertain 
them)  inevitably  have  English  coloring.  Is  it  strange 
—  when  so  many  old  gardens  are  blooming  through 
so  many  old  books  we  know  ? 

No  fruit  is  so  thoroughly  English  in  its  associa- 
tions ;  and  I  never  see  a  plump  Eoaring-Lion,  but  I 
think  of  a  burly  John  Bull,  with  waistcoat  strained 
over  him  like  the  bursting  skin  of  his  gooseberry, 
and  muttering  defiance  to  all  the  world.  There  is, 
too,  another  point  of  resemblance  ;  the  fruit  is  liable 
to  take  the  mildew  when  removed  from  British  soil, 
just  as  John  gets  the  blues,  and  wraps  himself  in  a 
veil  of  his  own  foggy  humors,  whenever  he  goes 
abroad.  My  experience  suggests  that  this  capri- 
cious fruit  be  planted  under  the  shadow  of  a  north 
wall,  in  soil  compact  and  deep  ;  it  should  be  thor- 
oughly enriched,  pruned  severely,  watered  abun- 
dantly, and  mulched  (if  possible)  with  kelp,  fresh 
from  the  sea  shore.  Thess  conditions  and  appli- 
ances may  give  a  clean  cheek,  even  to  the  Conquer- 
ing-Hero. 

But  it  is  not  so  much  for  any  piquancy  of  flavor 


178  MY  FARM. 

that  I  prize  the  fruit,  as  because  its  English  bloat  is 
pleasantly  suggestive  of  little  tartlets  (smothered  in 
clotted  cream)  eaten  long  ago  under  the  lee  of  Dart- 
moor hills  —  of  Lancashire  gardens,  where  prize 
berries  reposed  on  miniature  scaffoldings,  or  swam 
in  porcelain  saucers  —  and  of  bristling  thickets  in 
Cowper's  "  Wilderness  "  by  Olney. 

Is  it  lonely  in  my  garden  of  a  summer's  evening  ? 
Have  the  little  pattering  feet  gone  their  ways — to 
bed  ?  Then  I  people  the  gooseberry  alley  with  old 
Doctor  Primrose,  and  his  daughters  Sophia  and 
Olivia ;  Squire  Burchell  comes,  and  sits  upon  the 
bench  with  me  under  the  arbor,  as  I  smoke  my 
pipe.  How  shall  we  measure  our  indebtedness  to 
such  pleasant  books,  that  people  our  solitude  so 
many  years  after  they  are  written  !  Oliver  Gold- 
smith, I  thank  you !  Crown-Bob,  I  thank  you. 
Gooseberries,  like  the  English,  are  rather  indigest- 
ible. 

Of  strawberries,  I  shall  not  speak  as  a  committee- 
man,  but  as  a  simple  lover  of  a  luscious  dish.  I  am 
not  learned  in  kinds  ;  and  have  even  had  the  niaiserie 
in  the  presence  of  cultivators,  to  confound  Crimson 
Cone  with  Boston-Pine  ;  and  have  blushed  to  my 
eyelids,  when  called  upon  to  name  the  British-Queen 
in  a  little  collection  of  only  four  mammoth  varieties. 
With  strawberries,  as  with  people,  I  believe  in  old 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  179 

friends.  The  early  Scarlet,  if  a  little  piquant,  is 
good  for  the  first  pickings ;  and  the  Hovey,  with  a 
neighbor  bed  of  Pines,  or  McAvoy,  and  Black 
Prince,  if  you  please,  give  good  flavor,  and  a  well- 
rounded  dish.  The  spicy  Alpines  should  bring  up 
the  rear  ;  and  as  they  send  out  but  few  runners,  are 
admirably  adapted  for  borders.  The  Wilson  is  a 
great  bearer,  and  a  fine  berry  ;  but  with  the  tweak 
of  its  acidity  in  my  mouth,  I  can  give  its  flavor  no 
commendation.  Supposing  the  land  to  be  in  good 
vegetable-bearing  condition,  and  deeply  dug,  I  know 
no  dressing  which  will  so  delight  the  strawberry,  as 
a  heavy  coat  of  dark  forest-mould.  They  are  the 
children  of  the  wilderness,  force  them  as  we  will ; 
and  their  little  fibrous  rootlets  never  forget  their 
longing  for  the  dark,  unctuous  odor  of  mouldering 
forest  leaves. 

Three  great  traveller's  dishes  of  strawberries  are 
in  my  mind. 

The  first  was  at  an  inn  in  the  quaint  Dutch  town 
of  Broek  :  I  can  see  now  the  heaped  dish  of  mam- 
moth crimson  berries,  —  the  mug  of  luscious  cream 
standing  sentry,  —  the  round  red  cheese  upon  its 
platter,  —  the  tidy  hostess,  with  arms  akimbo,  look- 
ing proudly  on  it  all :  the  leaves  flutter  idly  at  the 
latticed  window,  through  which  I  see  wide  stretches 
of  level  meadow,  —  broad-armed  windmills  flapping 


l8o  MY  FARM. 

their  sails  leisurely,  —  cattle  lying  in  lazy  groups 
under  the  shade  of  scattered  trees  ;  and  there  is  no 
sound  to  break  the  June  stillness,  except  the  buzzing 
of  the  bees  that  are  feeding  upon  the  blossoms  of  the 
linden  which  overhangs  the  inn. 

I  thought  I  had  never  eaten  finer  berries  than  the 
Dutch  berries. 

The  second  dish  was  at  the  Douglas-Hotel  in  the 
city  of  Edinboro' ;  a  most  respectable  British  tavern, 
with  a  heavy  solid  sideboard  in  its  parlor ;  heavy 
solid  silver  upon  its  table ;  heavy  and  solid  chairs 
with  cushions  of  shining  mohair ;  a  heavy  and  solid 
figure  of  a  landlord  ;  and  heavy  and  solid  figures  in 
the  reckoning. 

The  berries  were  magnificent ;  served  upon  quaint 
old  India-china,  with  stems  upon  them,  and  to  be 
eaten  as  one  might  eat  a  fig,  with  successive  bites, 
and  successive  dips  in  the  sugar.  The  Scotch  fruit 
was  acid,  I  must  admit,  but  the  size  was  monumen- 
tal. I  wonder  if  the  stout  landlord  is  living  yet,  and 
if  the  little  pony  that  whisked  me  away  to  Salisbury 
crag,  is  still  nibbling  his  vetches  in  the  meadow  by 
Holyrood  ? 

The  third  dish  was  in  Switzerland,  in  the  month 
of  October.  I  had  crossed  that  day  the  Scheideck 
from  Meyringen,  had  threaded  the  valley  of  Grindel- 
wald,  and  had  just  accomplished  the  first  lift  of  the 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  181 

Wengern  Alp  —  tired  and  thirsty  —  when  a  little 
peasant  girl  appeared  with  a  tray  of  blue  saucers, 
brimming  with  Alpine  berries  — -  so  sweet,  so  musky, 
so  remembered,  that  I  never  eat  one  now  but  the 
great  valley  of  Grindelwald,  with  its  sapphire  show 
of  glaciers,  its  guardian  peaks,  and  its  low  meadows 
flashing  green,  is  rolled  out  before  me  like  a 
map. 

In  those  old  days  when  we  school-boys  were  ad- 
mitted to  the  garden  of  the  head-master  twice  in  a 
season  —  only  twice  —  to  eat  our  fill  of  currants  (his 
maid  having  gathered  a  stock  for  jellies  two  days 
before),  I  thought  it  "  most-a-splendid  "  fruit ;  but  I 
think  far  less  of  it  now.  My  bushes  are  burdened 
with  both  white  and  red  clusters,  but  the  spurs  are 
somewhat  mossy  and  the  boughs  have  a  straggling, 
dejected  air.  With  a  little  care,  severe  pruning, 
due  enrichment,  and  a  proper  regard  to  varieties 
(Cherry  and  White-Grape  being  the  best),  it  may  be 
brought  to  make  a  very  pretty  show  as  a  dessert 
fruit.  But  as  I  never  knew  it  to  be  eaten  very  freely 
at  dessert,  however  finely  it  might  look,  I  have  not 
thought  it  worth  while  to  push  its  proportions  for  a 
mere  show  upon  the  exhibition  tables.  The  ama- 
teurs would  smile  at  those  I  have ;  but  I  console 
myself  with  reflecting  that  they  smile  at  a  great  deal 
of  goodness  which  is  not  their  own.  They  are  full 


1 82  MY  FARM. 

of  conceit — I  say  it  charitably.  I  like  to  upset  their 
proprieties. 

There  was  one  of  them,  an  excellent  fellow  (if  he 
had  not  been  pomologically  starched  and  jaundiced), 
who  paid  me  a  visit  in  my  garden  not  long  ago, 
bringing  his  little  son,  who  had  been  educated 
strictly  in  the  belief  that  all  fine  fruit  was  made  — 
not  to  be  enjoyed,  but  for  pomological  considera- 
tion. The  dilettante  papa  was  tip-toeing  along  with 
a  look  of  serene  and  well-bred  contempt  for  my 
mildewed  gooseberries  and  scrawny  currants,  when 
I  broke  off  a  brave  bough  loaded  with  Tartarian 
cherries,  and  handed  it  to  the  lad,  with  —  "  Here, 
Harry,  my  boy,  —  we  farmers  grow  these  things  to 
eat ! " 

What  a  grateful  look  of  wonderment  in  his  clear 
gray  eyes ! 

The  broken  limb,  the  heresy  of  the  action,  the 
suddenness  of  it  all,  were  too  much  for  my  fine 
friend.  I  do  not  think  that  for  an  hour  he  recovered 
from  the  shock  to  his  sensibilities. 

Of  raspberries,  commend  me  to  the  Red-Antwerp, 
and  the  Brinckle's  Orange  ;  but  to  insure  good  fruit- 
age, they  should  be  protected  from  high  winds,  and 
should  be  lightly  buried,  or  thoroughly  "  strawed 
over "  in  winter.  The  Perpetual,  I  have  found  a 
perpetual  nuisance. 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  183 

The  New-Kochelle  or  Lawton  blackberry  has  been 
despitefully  spoken  of  by  many  ;  first,  because  the 
market-fruit  is  generally  bad,  being  plucked  before 
it  is  fully  ripened  ;  and  next,  because  in  rich  clayey 
grounds,  the  briers,  unless  severely  cut-back,  and 
again  back,  grow  into  a  tangled,  unapproachable  for- 
est, with  all  the  juices  exhausted  in  wood.  But 
upon  a  soil  moderately  rich,  a  little  gravelly  and 
warm,  protected  from  wind,  served  with  occasional 
top-dressings  and  good  hoeings,  the  Lawton  brier 
bears  magnificent  burdens. 

Even  then,  if  you  would  enjoy  the  richness  of  the 
fruit,  you  must  not  be  hasty  to  pluck  it.  When  the 
children  say  with  a  shout,  —  "  The  blackberries  are 
ripe  !  "  I  know  they  are  black  only,  and  I  can  wait. 

When  the  children  report —  "The  birds  are  eat- 
ing the  berries,"  I  know  I  can  still  wait.  But  when 
they  say — "The  bees  are  on  the  berries,"  I  know 
they  are  at  full  ripeness. 

Then,  with  baskets  we  sally  out ;  I  taking  the 
middle  rank,  and  the  children  the  outer  spray  of 
boughs.  Even  now  we  gather  those  only  which 
drop  at  the  touch  ;  these,  in  a  brimming  saucer,  with 
golden  Alderney  cream,  and  a  souppon  of  powdered 
sugar,  are  Olympian  nectar ;  they  melt  before  the 
tongue  can  measure  their  full  roundness,  and  seem 
to  be  mere  bloated  bubbles  of  forest  honey. 


1 84  MY  FARM. 

There  is  a  scratch  here  and  there,  which  calls 
from  the  children  a  half-scream  ;  but  a  big  berry  on 
the  lip  cures  the  smart ;  and  for  myself,  if  the  thorns 
draggle  me,  I  rather  fancy  the  rough  caresses,  and 
repeat  with  the  garden  poet  *  (humming  it  half 
aloud) : 

Bind  me,  ye  woodbines,  in  your  twines ; 
Curl  me  about,  ye  gadding  vines ; 
And  oh  !  so  close  your  circles  lace, 
That  I  may  never  leave  this  place  ; 
Bat,  lest  your  fetters  prove  too  weak, 
Ere  I  your  silken  bondage  break, 
Do  you,  O  brambles,  chain  me  too, 
And,  courteous  briers,  nail  me  through. 


Grapes. 

TF  the  associations  of  the  gooseberry  are  British, 
-*•  those  of  the  vine  are  thoroughly  Judaoan. 
There  is  not  a  fruit  that  we  grow,  which  has  so 
venerable  and  so  stately  a  history.  Who  does  not 
remember  the  old  Biblical  picture  in  all  the  primers, 
of  the  stupendous  cluster  which  the  spies  brought 
away  from  the  brook  Eshcol  ?  And  I  am  afraid  that 
many  a  youngster,  comparing  it  with  the  milder 

*Andrew  Marvell. 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  18$ 

growth  which  capped  his  dessert,  has  viewed  it  with 
a  little  of  the  Bishop-Colenso  scepticism. 

Upon  a  certain  day  I  give  to  my  boy,  —  who  has 
worked  some  mischief,  —  the  smallest  bunch  of  the 
dish.  He  poises  it  in  his  hand  awhile,  looking 
askance  —  doubtful  if  he  will  fling  it  down  in  a  pet, 
or  enjoy  even  so  little.  The  latter  feeling  wins  upon 
him,  but  is  spiced  with  a  bit  of  satire,  that  relieves 
itself  in  this  way  : 

"I  think,  papa  (he  is  fresh  from  "Line  upon 
Line  "),  that  the  spies  wouldn't  put  a  staff  on  their 
shoulders  to  carry  such  a  bunch  as  that  I " 

By  this  admeasurement,  indeed,  no  portion  of  New 
England  can  be  counted  equal  to  the  land  of  Canaan. 
There  are  grapes,  however,  which  yield  gracefully  to 
the  requisitions  of  the  climate,  and  furnish  abundant 
clusters,  if  not  large  onea  As  yet,  for  out-of-door 
culture — such  as  every  farmer  may  plant  with  faith, 
and  without  trembling  for  the  early  frosts — the  two 
most  desirable  are  the  Concord  and  Diana.  The 
first  the  more  hardy  and  sure  ;  the  latter  the  more 
delicate  and  luscious.  Indeed,  few  dessert  fruits  can 
outmatch  a  well-ripened,  sun-freckled,  fully  devel- 
oped and  closely  compacted  bunch  of  the  Diana 
grape. 

The  Catawba  has  its  advocates,  and  it  is  really  a 
dainty  fruit  if  it  have  good  range  of  sun,  and  is  not 


1 86  MY  FARM. 

hurried  in  its  ripening ;  but  in  delicacy  of  flavor  it 
must  yield  to  the  Diana.  The  Catawba  crop  is  also 
exceedingly  uncertain  in  this  latitude,  by  reason  of 
the  shortness  of  the  season.  A  gaunt  old  vine  of 
this  variety,  which  stands  behind  the  farmhouse,  has 
given  me  only  two  crops  in  the  six  years  past ;  the 
frosts  have  garnered  the  promise  of  the  others.  I 
have  now,  however,  contrived  to  conduct  its  trailing 
mantle  upon  a  rude  trellis,  so  as  completely  to 
embower  the  roof  of  the  little  outlying  kitchen ;  and 
the  fumes  and  warmth  of  this  latter,  from  its  open 
skylights,  have  given  to  the  old  vine  such  a  wonder- 
ful vigor  and  precocity,  that  I  have  promise  of  a  full 
burden  of  well-ripened  fruit  in  advance  even  of  the 
Isabella.  Can  the  reek  of  a  kitchen  be  put  to  better 
service  ? 

The  Isabella  escapes  ordinary  frosts,  and  is  a  pro- 
digious bearer ;  but.  it  has  no  rare  piquancy  of  flavor ; 
and  the  same  is  to  be  said  of  its  earlier  congener, 
the  Hartford-Prolific. 

Of  all  fruits,  the  grape  is  the  one  which,  to  insure 
perfection,  will  least  tolerate  neglect.  I  do  not  speak 
of  those  half-wild  and  flavorless  crops,  which  hang 
their  clusters  up  and  down  old  elms,  in  neglected 
farm-yards,  —  but  of  that  compact,  close  array  of 
sunny  bunches,  where  every  berry  is  fully  rounded, 
and  every  cluster  symmetrical.  It  must  have  care  in 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  187 

the  planting,  that  its  fibrous  roots  may  take  hold 
readily  upon  their  new  quarters  ;  care  in  position, 
which  must,  —  first  of  all,  be  sheltered  —  next,  have 
ample  moisture  —  next,  be  utterly  free  from  stagnant 
water,  whether  above  ground  or  below — and  finally, 
have  fair  and  open  exposure  to  the  sun.  It  must 
have  care  in  the  training,  that  every  spur  and  cluster 
may  have  its  share  of  air  and  sunshine  ;  care  in  the 
winter  pruning,  to  cut  away  all  needless  wood  ;  care 
in  the  summer  pruning,  to  pinch  down  its  affluence 
—  to  drive  the  juices  into  the  fruit,  and  to  restrain 
the  vital  forces  from  wasting  themselves  in  a  riotous 
life  of  leaves  and  tendrils. 

But  the  care  required  is  not  engrossing  or  fatigu- 
ing. Any  country-liver  may  bestow  it  upon  the 
score  of  vines  which  will  abundantly  supply  his 
wants,  without  feeling  the  task.  Nay,  more  ;  this 
coy  guidance  of  the  luxuriant  tendrils, — this  delicate 
fettering  of  its  abounding  green  life,  —  this  opening 
of  the  clusters  to  the  gladness  of  the  sunshine,  will 
make  a  man  feel  tenderly  to  the  vine,  and  breed  a 
fellowship  that  shall  make  all  his  restraints,  and  the 
plucking  away  of  the  waste  shoots,  seem  to  be  mere 
offices  of  friendship. 

There  is  not,  anywhere,  a  country  house  about 
which  positions  do  not  abound,  where  a  vine  may 
clamber,  and  feed  upon  resources  that  are  worse 


1 88  MY  FARM. 

than  lost.  The  southern  or  eastern  front  of  an  old 
out-building ;  a  staring,  naked  wall  (on  which  grapes 
ripen  admirably)  ;  a  great  unseemly  boulder,  from 
under  which  the  rootlets  will  pluck  out  the  elements 
of  the  fairest  fruit ;  a  back-court,  where  washings 
of  sinks  are  wasting  ;  the  palings  of  a  poultry-yard  — 
all  these  are  positions,  where,  with  small  temptation, 
the  mantling-vine  will  "creep  luxuriant." 

I  have  not  alluded  to  the  Delaware,  because,  thus 
far,  my  plants  have  been  poor  ones,  and  my  experi- 
ence unsuccessful.  At  best,  however,  the  vine  is  of  a 
more  delicate  temper  than  those  named,  and  requires 
larger  care  and  richer  dressing.  Under  these  con- 
ditions, I  believe  the  grape  to  be  all,  which  its 
friends  claim  —  of  a  delicate  and  highly  aromatic 
flavor,  —  so  early  as  to  be  secure  against  frosts,  and 
giving  a  better  promise  than  any  other,  of  a  really 
good  domestic  wine. 

I  am  surprised  to  find  in  the  course  of  my  drives 
back  in  the  country,  how  many  of  our  old-time  farm- 
ers are  applying  themselves,  in  a  modest  and  some- 
what furtive  way,  to  wine-making.  It  is  true  that 
they  bring  under  contribution  a  great  many  foxy 
swamp  varieties,  and  are  not  over-careful  in  regard 
to  ripeness ;  but  faults  of  acidity  they  correct  by  a 
heavy  sugaring,  which  gives  an  innocent  and  bounc- 
ing percentage  of  alcohol. 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  189 

The  practice  is  not,  I  fear,  entered  upon  with  a 
purely  horticultural  love,  and  I  suspect  they  bring  a 
more  lively  stomachic  fondness  to  it,  than  do  the 
pomologists  to  their  science  of  fruiting.  I  think  the 
development  of  this  home  manufacture  has  been 
quickened  by  Maine -laws,  heavy  import  duties,  and 
by  a  growing  reluctance  on  the  part  of  the  heads  of 
families  —  to  carry  a  demijohn  in  the  wagon.  I  also 
hear  the  home  product  commended  by  the  old  gen- 
tlemen manufacturers,  as  "warming  to  the  in'ards;" 
and  in  large  doses,  I  should  think  it  might  be.  Their 
town  customers  for  this  beverage  are  mostly  exceed- 
ingly serious  and  sedate  people,  who  have  a  comical 
way  of  calling  homemade  wines  —  "  pure  juice." 

And  pray,  why  should  not  sedate  people  enjoy  the 
good  things  of  lif e,  —  call  them  by  what  names  they 
will  ?  I  know  an  exceedingly  worthy  man  who  never 
buys  his  cider  except  of  a  deacon  ;  and  then  only  by 
the  cask  ;  and  he  buys  it  very  often. 

Plums,  Apricots,  and  Peaches. 

T  AM  sorry  to  give  so  poor  an  account,  as  I  needs 
must,  of  these  stone-fruits.  As  respects  the 
plum,  there  is,  indeed,  an  incompatibility  of  soil 
upon  my  farm,  to  be  contended  against  ;  but  this 
difficulty  is  trifling,  in  comparison  with  the  mischiefs 


igo  MY  FARM, 

of  the  arch-enemy,  the  curculio.  The  few  trees 
which  I  found  suffering  under  black-knot  in  its 
most  aggravated  form,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  died  under 
surgical  treatment  Others  have  been  planted  to 
supply  their  places ;  —  planted  in  the  poultry  yard — 
planted  in  positions  where  the  earth  would  be  hard 
trampled,  —  planted  in  shelter  and  out  of  shelter; 
but  although  showing  fair  vigor,  and  a  pretty  array 
of  blossoms,  no  device  thus  far  adopted  has  suc- 
ceeded in  arresting  the  spoliations  of  the  curculio. 
Paving  the  ground  is  vain  ;  the  forage  of  poultry  is 
vain ;  underlying  water  is  vain  ;  and  there  remain 
only  three  resources  —  to  jar  off  the  vermin,  gather 
them  and  kill  them  ;  or  second,  to  deluge  the  young 
fruit  with  a  wash  that  shall  nauseate  the  enemy  ;  or 
third,  to  shield  the  trees  or  fruit  with  a  gauze  cover- 
ing, that  shall  forbid  attack.  They  are  good  devices 
against  any  enemy ;  but  extermination  is  a  slow 
process  ;  if  you  nauseate  the  enemy,  you  are  nause- 
ated in  turn;  and  the  gauze  protection  involves  a 
greater  sacrifice  than  the  sacrifice  of  the  fruit. 

These  reasons,  though  counting  against  the  plum 
as  a  market  product,  do  not,  of  course,  forbid  its 
growth  as  a  luxury,  —  which,  like  many  other  lux- 
uries, must  be  paid  for  in  fourfold  its  value. 

I  would  by  no  means  undervalue  the  plum  ;  least 
of  all,  that  prince  or  princess  of  plums,  Reine-Claude 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  191 

(Green-Gage),  of  which,  in  the  sunny  towns  along 
the  Loire,  I  have  purchased  a  golden  surfeit  for  a 
few  sous  :  when  I  remember  those,  and  their  lus- 
cious and  cheap  perfection,  crowning  the  peasants' 
gardens,  I  am  a  little  dishearted  at  thought  of  the 
tobacco  washes,  and  whale-oil  soap  and  syringes, 
with  which  we  must  enter  into  combat  with  the  cur- 
culio,  for  only  a  most  flimsy  supply. 

The  nectarine  is  subject  to  the  same  blight ;  and 
the  apricot  furnishes  only  a  very  dismal  residuum  of 
a  crop.  As  an  espalier,  it  is  not,  I  think,  so  subject 
to  the  ravages  of  the  curculio  as  in  its  unfettered 
condition  ;  but  upon  the  wall  (particularly  if  one  of 
southern  exposure),  it  is  exceedingly  liable  to  injury 
from  the  late  frosts  of  Spring.  I  succeed  in  saving 
a  few  from  all  enemies  every  year  ;  but  they  are  so 
wan  —  so  pinched,  as  hardly  to  serve  for  souvenir  of 
the  golden  Moor-parks  which  crown  an  August  dinner 
at  Vefour's,  or  the  Truis-Freres.  It  is  an  old  fruit ; 
the  Persians  had  it ;  the  Egyptians  have  gloried  in 
it  these  centuries  past;  Columella  names  it  in  his 
garden  poem ;  and  Palladius  advises  that  it  be  grafted 
upon  the  almond  :  *  will  the  nurserymen  make  trial  ? 

*  It  occurs  in  Tit.  vii. ,  Novem.,  where  he  discourses  of  the 
peach.  "  Inseritur  in  se,  in  amygdalo,  in  pruno :  sed  ARME- 
NIA, rxL  PR^ECOQUA  prunis,  duracina  amygdalis  melius  ad- 
hcerescunt,"  etc. 


I92  MY  FARM. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  in  an  early  chapter  1 
made  mention  of  certain  dilapidated  peach  trees 
upon  the  premises,  which  were  even  then  showing 
unfailing  signs  of  the  "yellows."  This  vegetable  dys- 
pepsia has  long  since  carried  them  oft  Indeed, 
there  are  but  few  belts  of  land  throughout  New 
England  where  a  man  may  hope  successful  culture 
of  this  fruit.*  The  borer  is  an  ugly  enemy  to  begin 
with  ;  but  with  close  watchfulness,  the  attacks  of 
this  insect  may  be  prevented.  Next,  comes  a  curi- 
ous, foul  twisting  of  the  leaves,  due  —  may  be  —  to 
some  minute  family  of  aphides ;  but  this  can  be 
mitigated  by  judicious  pruning  ;  after  these  escapes, 

*  Since  the  original  publication  of  this  book,  peach  cnl- 
tnre  has  made  great  advances  in  Southern  New  England,  and 
there  are  shrewd  fruit  growers  who  make  large  and  profitable 
crops  in  many  districts  of  Connecticut  and  Massachusetts. 
The  dfsicki-ata  for  success  would  seem  to  be  —  a  site  for  or- 
chard secure  from  late  spring  frosts  —  selection  of  vigorous 
stock  —  a  free  cultivation  of  the  ground  in  early  summer, 
with  subsequent  mulching  of  the  entire  surface  —  untiring 
watchfulness  against  the  borer —  judicious  heading  in  of  the 
top  (in  late  autumn  or  very  early  spring),  and  liberal  supply 
of  potash  and  bone  material  in  way  of  dressing. 

Prof.  Penhallow's  observations  and  experiments  at  Hough- 
ton  Farm,  N.  J.,  would  seem  to  promise  full  conquest  of  that 
old  foe,  the  "Yellows." 

April,  1884. 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  193 

and  when  your  mouth  is  watering  in  view  of  a  lus- 
cious harvest,  there  appear  symptoms  of  a  new  dis- 
ease ;  the  leaves  cease  to  expand  ;  the  fruit  takes  on 
a  premature  bloom,  and  a  multitude  of  little  shoots 
start  here  and  there  from  the  bark,  being  weakly  at- 
tempts to  struggle  against  the  consuming  "yellows." 
And  if  all  these  difficulties  be  fairly  escaped  or  over- 
come, there  remains  the  damaging  fact,  that  in  two 
winters  out  of  five,  in  many  New  England  exposures, 
the  extreme  cold  will  utterly  destroy  the  germ  of 
the  fruit  buds. 

Notwithstanding  these  drawbacks,  however,  I  con- 
tinue to  put  out  from  year  to  year,  a  few  young 
trees ;  not  making  regular  plantations,  but  dotting 
them  about,  in  shrubberies,  and  in  unoccupied  gar- 
den corners,  grouping  them  in  the  lee  of  old  walls 
—  in  the  poultry  yard,  —  upon  the  north  side  of 
buildings,  —  in  every  variety  of  position  and  of  soiL 
In  this  way  I  contrive  —  except  the  January  temper- 
ature shows  ten  below  zero  —  to  secure  a  fair  table 
supply.  Even  amid  the  shrubbery  of  the  lawn, 
where  I  counted  their  bloom  and  foliage  a  sufficient 
return,  there  have  been  gathered  scores  of  delicious 
peaches. 

I  know  that  it  is  disorderly,  and  shocking  to  all 
the  prejudices  of  the  learned,  to  plant  fruit  trees  in 
this  hap-hazard  way.  But  I  love  these  offences 
13 


I94  MY  FARM. 

against  system  (particularly  when  system  is  barren 
of  triumphs).  I  love  to  test  Nature's  own  ruling, 
and  give  her  margin  for  wide  demonstration. 


The  Poultry. 

T  KNOW  not  whether  to  begin  my  discourse  of 
-*-  poultry  with  a  terrific  onslaught  upon  all 
feathered  creation,  or  to  speak  the  praises  of  the 
matronly  fowls,  which  supply  delicate  spring  chick- 
ens to  the  table,  and  profusion  of  eggs.  When,  on 
some  ill-fated  day,  a  pestilent,  painstaking  hen,  with 
her  brood  of  eager  chicklings,  has  found  her  way 
into  my  hot-bed,  and  has  utterly  despoiled  the  most 
cherished  plants ;  or  a  marauding  drove  of  young 
turkeys  has  cropped  all  the  late  cauliflowers,  I  am 
madly  bent  upon  extermination  of  the  whole  tribe. 

But  reflection  comes — with  a  nice  fresh  egg  to  my 
breakfast,  or  a  delicate  grilled  fowl  to  my  dinner — 
and  the  feathered  people  take  a  new  lease  of  life. 
They  give  a  sociable,  habitable  air,  moreover,  to  a 
country  dwelling.  The  contented,  good-humored 
cluck  of  the  hens,  breeds  contentment  in  the  on- 
looker. They  are  rare  philosophers,  taking  the 
•world  as  they  find  it ; —  now  a  blade  of  grass,  now  a 
lurking  worm  ;  here  a  stray  kernel  of  grain,  and 


CROPS   AND  PROFITS.  195 

there  some  tid-bit  of  a  butterfly  ;  taking  their  siesta 
with  a  wing  and  a  leg  stretched  out  in  the  sun,  and 
like  the  rest  of  us,  warning  away  from  their  own 
feeding  ground,  birds  less  strong  than  themselves, 
with  an  authoritative  dab  of  their  bills.  Although 
amenable  to  laws  of  habit, — traversing  regular  beats 
for  their  supply  of  wild  food,  and  collecting  at  regu- 
lar hours  for  such  as  the  mistress  may  have  to  be- 
stow, they  are  yet  rebellious  against  undue  or  extra- 
ordinary show  of  authority.  It  is  quite  impossible 
to  exercise  any  safe  control  over  the  locality  where 
the  hens  choose  to  execute  their  maternal  duties. 
They  insist  upon  freedom  of  the  will  in  the  matter, 
as  obstreperously,  and,  I  dare  say,  as  logically,  as 
ever  any  old-school  dialectician  in  his  metaphysical 
homilies. 

Nothing  could  be  more  charming  than  the  ar- 
rangement, matured  with  the  co-operation  of  an  in- 
genious country  carpenter,  by  which  my  fowls  were 
to  lay  in  one  set  of  boxes,  carefully  darkened,  and 
to  carry  on  their  incubation  in  another  set  of  boxes, 
made  cheery  (against  the  long  confinement),  with 
sky-light ;  there  were  admirable  little  architectural 
galleries  through  which  they  were  to  promenade  in 
the  intervals  of  these  maternal  duties  —  adroit  dis- 
position of  courts,  and  feeding  troughs,  so  that 
there  should  be  no  ill-advised  collision,  —  but  it  was 


196  MY  FARM. 

all  in  vain.  Hens  persisted  in  laying  where  they 
should  not  lay,  and  in  setting,  with  badly  directed 
instinct,  upon  the  dreariest  of  porcelain  eggs.  The 
fowls  of  my  Somersetshire  neighbor,  meantime,  at 
the  stone  cottage,  with  nothing  more  orderly  in  the 
way  of  nests  than  a  stray  lodgement  in  the  haymow, 
or  a  castaway  basket  looped  under  the  rafters  of  a 
shed,  brought  out  brood  after  brood,  so  full,  and 
fresh,  and  lusty,  as  to  put  my  architectural  devices 
to  shame. 

At  certain  times,  when  the  condition  of  the  gar- 
den or  crops  allow  it,  I  permit  my  fowls  free  forage  ; 
and  as  they  stroll  off  over  the  lawn  and  among  the 
shrubberies,  it  sometimes  happens  that  they  come  in 
contact  with  the  more  vagabond  birds  of  the  larger 
farm  family.  The  hens  take  the  meeting  philosophi- 
cally, with  a  well-bred  lack  of  surprise,  and  are  not 
deterred  for  a  moment  from  their  forage  employ ; 
perhaps  (if  with  a  brood),  giving  an  admonitory 
cluck  to  their  chicks,  to  keep  near  them,  —  even  as 
old  ladies  with  daughters,  in  a  strange  place,  advise 
caution,  without  enjoining  positive  non-intercourse. 

The  ducks,  on  the  contrary,  in  a  very  low-bred 
manner,  give  way  to  a  world  of  surprises,  and  gad 
about  each  other,  dipping  their  heads,  and  quacking, 
and  bickering,  like  old  gossips  long  time  apart,  who 
pour  interminable  scandal  in  each  other's  ears.  The 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS,  197 

cocks  make  an  honest,  fair  fight  of  it,  and  one  goes 
home  draggled,  confining  himself  thereafter  to  his 
own  quarters. 

The  turkeys  meet  as  fine  ladies  do,  tip-toeing 
round  and  round,  and  eyeing  each  other  with  earn- 
est scrutiny,  and  abundant  curvetings  of  the  neck  — 
very  stately,  dignified,  and  impudent  —  stooping  to 
browse  perhaps  (ladies  sniff  thus  at  vinaigrettes),  as 
if  no  strange  fowl  were  near,  —  which  is  merest  af- 
fectation. They  summon  their  little  families  into 
close  order,  as  if  fearing  contagion,  and  eyeing  each 
other,  wander  apart,  without  a  sign  of  companion- 
ship, or  a  gobble  of  leave-taking. 

I  must  not  forget  the  groups  of  Guinea-fowl,  who 
fraternize  charmingly,  and  threaten  to  become  one 
family.  These  birds,  unlike  all  other  feathered 
animals,  show  no  marked  difference  of  appearance 
between  the  sexes  ;  so  slight  is  this  indeed,  that 
even  the  naturalists  have  blundered  into  errors,  and 
left  us  in  the  dark.*  Even  a  fighting  propensity 
does  not  distinguish  the  cock,  I  observe ;  for  the 
female  bird  is  an  arrant  termagant,  and  has  under- 
taken, in  my  own  flock,  a  fierce  battle  with  a  tom- 
turkey,  in  which,  though  worsted,  and  eventually 
killed,  she  showed  a  fine  chivalrous  pluck.  They 

*  Buffon  :  De  la  Pintade. 


198  MY  FARM. 

are  not,  however,  quarrelsome  among  themselves  ; 
although  flocking  together  in  communities,  the  male 
birds  are  strictly  faithful  to  their  mates,  and  mani- 
fest none  of  the  sultanic  propensities  which  so  de- 
plorably mislead  the  other  domestic  fowls. 

Notwithstanding  their  harsh  cry,  to  which  the 
Greeks  gave  a  special  descriptive  name,*  I  like  the 
Guinea-fowl  ;  they  are  excellent  layers,  enormous 
devourers  of  insects  —  a  li  ttle  over-fond,  it  is  true, 
of  young  cauliflowers,  and  grapes,  —  yet  a  stanch, 
lively,  self-possessed  bird  ;  and  notwithstanding  the 
sneers  of  Varro,f  whose  taste  must  have  been  poor 
in  the  matter  of  poultry,  —  excellent  eating. 

The  young  Guineas,  like  the  young  turkeys,  are 
delicate,  however,  and  suffer  from  sudden  changes 
of  temperature.  Give  them  what  care  you  will,  and 
all  the  dietetic  luxuries  of  the  books,  and  on  some 
fine  morning,  you  shall  find  the  half  of  a  brood 
moping  and  staggering,  and  drooping  out  of  life. 
The  young  turkeys  are  even  more  subject  to  infan- 
tile ailments,  and  their  invalid  caprices  outmatch  all 
the  nostrums  of  the  doctors.  Yet  some  old  specta- 
cled lady  in  the  back  country,  with  nothing  better 


* 

fLib.  III.,  De  Re  Rust.  Hs  novissimse  in  triclinium 
ganearium  introierunt  e  culina  propter  fastidium  hominuiu. 
Veneunt  propter  peuuriam  maguo. 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  199 

than  a  turned-up  barrel  in  the  way  of  shelter,  will 
by  an  easy  and  indescribable  '  knack '  of  treatment, 
rear  such  broods  as  cannot  be  rivalled  by  any  literal 
execution  of  the  rules  of  Boswell  and  Doyle. 

Beyond  the  age  of  six  weeks,  however,  danger 
mostly  ceases,  and  the  poults  have  a  good  chance  — 
barring  the  foxes  —  of  coming  to  the  honors  of  de- 
capitation ;  and  I  know  few  prettier  farm  sights, 
than  a  squadron  of  pure  white  turkeys,  marching 
over  new  mown  grass-land,  with  their  skirmishers 
deployed  on  either  flank,  and  rioting  among  the 
grasshoppers.  It  is  essential  that  both  Guinea-fowl 
and  turkeys  have  free  and  wide  range ;  they  are 
natural  wanderers ;  my  hens  submit  to  a  curtail- 
ment of  their  liberties  with  more  cheerfulness  ;  but 
there  is  after  all,  no  biped  of  which  I  have  knowl- 
edge, that  does  not  glory  in  freedom.  The  Black 
Spanish  fowls,  Dorkings,  and  Polish  top-knots  (for 
these  make  up  my  variety,  and  are,  I  believe,  the 
best),  form  no  exception  ;  and  if  confinement  is  nec- 
essary, the  enclosing  palings  should  be  of  generous 
width.  A  safe  rule  is  —  to  make  the  enclosure  so 
large  (whatever  the  number  of  the  flock),  that  the 
fowls  will  not  wholly  subdue  the  grass,  or  forbid  its 
healthful  vegetation.  If  too  small  for  this,  it  is  im- 
peratively necessary  for  thrift,  that  they  have  a  run 
of  an  hour  each  day  before  sunset 


200  MY  FARM. 

The  oldest  English  writer  upon  the  subject  of 
poultry  was  a  certain  Leonard  Mascall,  who  wrote 
about  the  year  1581  —  when  Queen  Mary  was  fret- 
ting in  her  long  confinement,  and  Sir  Francis  Drake 
was  voyaging  around  the  world.  He  had  been 
farmer  to  King  James,  and  calls  his  little  black-letter 
book,  "  The  husbandrye,  ordring,  and  governmente 
of  poultrie."  Among  his  headings  are  "How  to 
keepe  egges  long,"  —  "  How  to  have  egges  all  win- 
ter,"—  "Of  hennes  that  hatches  abroad,  as  in 
bushes," —  "  Of  turquie  hennes,  profite  and  also  dis- 
profite." 

For  winter  eggs,  he  advises  "to  take  the  croppes 
of  nettles  when  ready  to  seed,  dry  them,  and  mix 
them  with  bran  and  hemp-seed,  and  give  it  to  the 
hens  in  the  morning,  and  also  to  give  them  the 
seedes  of  cow-make "  (whatever  that  may  be).  I 
have  never  ventured  trial  of  his  advices  ;  but  find 
full  supply  in  giving  hens  warm  quarters  —  a  closed 
house,  with  double  walls,  and  its  front  entirely  of 
glass ;  here,  with  water  constantly  running,  an 
ample  ash  box  and  gravel  bed,  full  feeding,  —  not 
forgetting  scraps  of  meat,  and  occasional  vegetable 
diet  —  the  hens  make  a  summer  of  the  winter,  and 
reward  all  care.  If  the  weather  be  very  warm,  they 
are  allowed  a  little  run  in  the  adjoining  barn-yard 
(their  winter  home  being,  in  fact,  a  rustic  transmuta- 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  2or 

tion  of  an  ancient  cow-shed).  Any  considerable 
chilliness  of  the  atmosphere,  however,  —  if  they  are 
long  exposed  to  it,  —  checks  their  laying  propensi- 
ties, and  two  or  three  days  of  housing  are  needed  to 
restore  the  due  equilibrium. 

The  Roman  writers  give  us  cruel  hints  in  regard 
to  the  fattening  of  fowls,  which  I  have  never  had 
the  heart  to  try.  They  go  beyond  the  rules  of  the 
Strasburg  poulterers  in  harshness ;  and  that  elegant 
heathen  Columella,  has  the  effrontery  to  advise  that 
the  legs  of  young  doves  be  broken,  in  order  to  cram 
them  the  more  quickly.  Such  suggestions  belonged, 
of  right,  to  a  period  when  Roman  ladies  —  Sabina, 
and  Delia,  and  Octavia  —  looked  down  coolly  on 
gladiators,  gashing  then:  lives  out  with  bare  sabres, 
and  then  lolled  home  in  chariots,  to  dine  on  thrush- 
es, fatted  in  the  dark.  We,  —  good  Christians  that 
we  are,  —  shudder  at  thought  of  such  barbarism ; 
we  pit  no  bare-backed  gladiators  against  each  other, 
with  drawn  swords,  in  our  very  presence  ;  but  we 
send  armies  out,  of  a  hundred  thousand  in  blue  and 
gray,  and  look  at  their  butchery  of  each  other,  very 
coolly,  —  through  the  newspapers,  —  and  dine  on 
pdte  de  foie  gras.  Of  course  we  have  improved 
somewhat  in  all  these  ages,  since  Columella  broke 
pigeons'  legs ;  of  course  we  are  civilized ;  but  the 
Devil  is  very  strong  in  us  still. 


202  MY  FARM. 


hit  Profitable? 

"TTTHEN  I  have  shown  some  curious  city  visitor 
all  these  belongings  of  the  farm  —  have  en- 
listed his  admiration  for  my  crested,  golden,  Polish 
fowls,  —  for  my  garden,  for  the  fruits ;  —  for  the 
wide  stretch  of  fields,  and  the  herd  of  cows  loitering 
under  the  shadow  of  the  scattered  apple  trees,  he 
turns  upon  me,  in  his  city  way,  with  the  abrupt 
questioning,  "Isn't  it  confoundedly  expensive, 
though,  getting  land  smoothed  out  in  this  style  — 
what  with  your  manures,  and  levelling,  and  planting 
trees?" 

And  I  answer  —  "  N  —  n  —  no  ;  no  ;  (somewhat 
bolder.)  There's  a  certain  amount  of  labor  involved, 
to  be  sure,  and  labor  has  to  be  paid  for,  you  know. 
But  there  are  the  vegetables,  the  chickens,  the  eggs, 
the  milk,  and  the  fruit,  which  must  come  out  of  the 
shops,  unless  a  man  have  a  home  supply." 

"  To  be  sure,  you're  quite  right ; "  and  I  think  he 
admitted  the  observation,  as  many  city  people  in- 
cline to,  as  a  new  idea.  "But,"  he  added,  with  an 
awkward  inquisitiveness,  "Do  you  ever  get  any 
money  back  ?  " 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  203 

My  friend  was  not  a  reader  of  the  Agricultural 
Journals,  or  he  could  not  have  failed  to  notice  the 
pertinacity  with  which  the  profitableness  of  farming 
is  urged  and  re-urged.  Indeed,  with  all  considera- 
tion for  the  calling,  I  think  it  is  somewhat  too  per- 
sistently pressed.  It  suggests  —  rather  too  strongly 
the  urgence  of  the  recruiting  sergeant,  in  setting 
forth  the  profitableness  of  soldiering.  I  do  not  ob- 
serve that  army  contractors  magnify  the  gains  of 
their  craft  very  noisily.  The  hens  that  lay  golden 
eggs  never  cackle  ;  at  least,  I  never  heard  them. 

The  question  of  my  friend  remains  however, 

"  Do  you  ever  get  any  money  back,  —  eh  ?" 
"What  an  odious  particularity  many  of  these  city 
people  have  !  What  a  crucial  test  they  bring  to  the 
delightful  surroundings  of  a  country  home  !  Have 
they  no  admiration  for  such  stretch  of  fields,  such 
herds,  and  the  shrubberies,  on  whose  skirts  the 
flowers  are  gleaming?  Somebody  has  suggested 
that  the  forbidden  fruit  with  which  the  Devil  tempt- 
ed Eve,  and  which  Eve  plucked  to  the  sorrow  of 
her  race,  was  —  money.  A  tree  whose  fruit  carries 
knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  is  surely  not  an  inapt 
figure  of  the  capabilities  of  money  —  by  which  all 
men  and  women  stand  tempted  to-day.  The  Para- 
dise tree  is  not  popularly  supposed  to  grow  largely 
on  the  farms  of  amateurs. 


204  MY  FARM. 

But  the  question  returns  —  "  Do  you  get  any 
money  back  ?  " 

I  think  it  must  be  fairly  admitted  that  with  most 
amateur  farmers,  the  business  (if  we  reckon  it  busi- 
ness) is  only  an  elegant  luxury  ;  absorbing  in  a  quite 
illimitable  manner,  all  loose  funds  at  the  disposal  of 
the  adventurer,  and  returning  —  smooth  fields,  sleek 
cattle,  delicious  fruits,  and  possibly,  a  few  annual 
premiums.  We  never  get  at  their  "memoranda," 
Mr.  Mechi,  indeed,  of  the  Tip-tree  Hall,  gave  us  an 
exhibit  of  his  expenses  and  his  sales  ;  but  he  found 
it  necessary  to  support  the  statement  with  sundry 
affidavits  ;  people  showed  wanton  distrust ;  and  I 
think  there  is  an  earnest  belief  among  shrewd  ob- 
servers, that  the  razor  straps,  soaps,  and  dressing- 
cases  of  Leaden-Hall  street  (where  his  original  busi- 
ness lies),  are,  in  a  large  degree,  creditors  of  the 
Tip-tree  Hall  farming. 

But  Mr.  Mechi  is  something  more  than  an  ama- 
teur ;  he  is  an  innovator  ;  and  has  sustained  his  in- 
novations with  a  rare  business  capacity,  and  that 
inexorable  system,  which  can  make  even  weak  ideas 
exhibit  a  compacted  strength.  Amateurs  then, 
cannot  take  shelter  under  cover  of  Mr.  Mechi's  fig- 
ures. Farming  remains  an  elegant  amusement  only, 
for  those  who  can  afford  to  buy  all  that  they  need, 
and  to  sell  nothing  that  they  raise  ;  and  a  profitable 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  205 

employment  only  (in  the  majority  of  instances),  for 
those  who  can  afford  to  sell  all  that  they  raise,  and 
buy  nothing  that  they  need. 

"  Does  any  money  come  back,  eh  ?  " 

The  question  of  my  persistent  friend  must  be 
met  And  I  do  not  know  how  it  can  be  more  fairly 
met,  than  by  giving  an  abstract  of  accounts  for  the 
first  year,  third  year,  and  fifth  year  of  occupancy. 

Debit  and  Credit. 

T  ET  us  count  first  all  extraordinary  repairs  and 
-^"^  necessary  implements  on  taking  possession,  as 
part  of  the  farm  investment ;  next,  let  us  set  off  the 
interest  upon  investment,  against  house  rent,  and  all 
home  consumption.  Thus,  —  if  a  farm  cost  $12,000, 
(and  I  use  illustrative  figures  only),  and  if  the 
needed  repairs  and  implements  at  the  start  involve 
an  outlay  of  $3,000  more  —  we  have  a  total  of 
$15,000,  upon  which  the  interest  ($900),  may  be 
fairly  set  off  against  rent,  and  the  poultry,  dairy 
products,  fuel,  vegetables,  etc.,  consumed  upon  the 
place.  A  shrewd  working  farmer  would  say  that 
this  implied  altogether  too  large  a  home  consump- 
tion, for  reasonable  profit ;  but  to  those  who  come 
from  the  city  to  the  country,  with  the  determination 
to  enjoy  its  bounties  to  the  full,  it  will  appear  very 


2o6  My  FARM. 

moderate.  In  any  event,  it  will  simplify  the  com- 
parison I  wish  to  make  between  the  actual  working 
expenses  of  a  farm,  and  the  results  of  positive  sales. 
But  let  us  come  to  figures : 

FIRST   rSAR  —  EDGEWOOD  FARJf. 

DR. 

To  Valuation  of  live  stock,       .         .        .  $1,200  00 

"  Interest  on  do., 72  00 

"  Purchase  of  new  stock,       .        .  300  00 

"  Labor, 1,200  00 

"  Hay  and  grain  bought,        .         .         .  150  00 

"  Seeds,  trees,  etc.,        .        ...  150  00 

"  Manures, 250  00 

"  Wear  and  tear  of  implements,     .         .  100  00 

"  Taxes,  insurance,  and  incidentals,      .  100  00 


$3,522  00 
CR. 
By  Valuation  stock,  close  of  yr.,      .        .  $1,400  00 

«•  Sales  do., 250  00 

"    do.    milk, 600  00 

"    do.    butter, 50  00 

"    do.    vegetables,         ....          60  00 

"     do.   fruits, 10  00 

"     do.    eggs  and  poultry,        .         .         .          25  00 
"     do.    sundries,  .         .         .         .          75  00 


$2,470  00 
"  Balance  (loss), 1,052  00 

$3,522  00 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  207 

First  years  of  any  adventure  do  not  offer  a  very 
appetizing  show  —  least  of  all  the  adventure  of  re- 
storing a  neglecl  ed  farm. 

If  this  record  does  not  prove  entertaining  to  the 
reader,  I  can  frankly  say  that  he  has  my  heartiest 
sympathies.  The  great  enormity  lies  in  the  labor 
account  —  always  the  enormity  in  any  reckoning  of 
American  farming,  as  compared  with  British  or 
Continental.  It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that 
a  large  proportion  of  the  sum  named,  went  to  the 
execution  of  permanent  improvements,  and  that 
two-thirds  of  it  would  have  been  amply  sufficient 
for  the  exigencies  of  the  farm- work  proper. 

Let  us  slip  on  now  to  the 

THIRD  TEAR. 

DR. 

To  Valuation  of  stock,      ....  $1,500  00 

"  Interest  on  do 90  00 

"  Purchase  of  new  stock,       .        .         .  200  00 

"  Labor  bills, 1,100  00 

"  Manures, 150  00 

"  Hay  and  grain  bought,        .         .         .  120  00 

"  Seeds,  trees,  etc.,        .        .         .         .  50  00 

"  Wear  and  tear  of  implements,    .         .  100  00 

"  Taxes,  insurance,  and  incidentals,     .  100  00 


$3,410  00 
"  Balance  (gain) 615  00 

$4,025  00 


2o8  MY  FARM. 

CR. 

By  Valuation  stock,  close  of  yr.,      .        .  $1,600  00 

"  Sales  do., 200  00 

"    do.    milk,  1,650  00 
•v 

"     do.    vegetables,         .         .        .        .  250  00 

"    do.    fruits, 125  00 

"    do.    poultry, 100  00 

"    do.    sundries, 100  00 


$4,025  00 

This  has  a  more  cheerful  look,  but  is  not  gor- 
geous ;  yet  the  fields  are  wearing  a  trim  look,  and 
there  is  a  large  percentage  of  increased  productive 
capacity,  which  if  not  put  down  in  figures,  has  yet  a 
very  seductive  air  for  the  eye  of  an  imaginative  pro- 
prietor. Two  years  later  the  account  stands  thus : — 

FIFTff  YEAR. 

DR. 

To  Valuation  of  stock $1,700  00 

"  Interest  on  do., 10200 

"  Purchase  of  new  stock,  .  .  .  180  00 

"  Labor  bills, 1,000  00 

"  Manures, 100  00 

"  Grain  purchased,  ....  130  00 

"  Seeds,  trees,  etc.,  ....  60  00 

~"  Wear  and  tear  of  implements,  .  .  100  00 

"  Insurance,  taxes,  and  incidentals,  .  120  00 


$3,492  00 
"  Balance  (gain), 988  00 

$4,480  00 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  209 

CR. 

By  Valuation  stock,  close  of  yr.,      .        .  $1,700  00 

"  Sales  do.,    ......  230  00 

"     do.    milk 1,900  00 

"    do.   vegetables,         ....  250  00 

"    do.   fruit 150  00 

"     do.    poultry, 130  00 

"    do.   sundries, 120  00 


$4,480  00 

These  figures,  though  written  roundly,  are  (frac- 
tions apart)  essentially  true ;  I  would  match  them 
for  honesty  (though  not  for  largeness),  against  any 
official  report  I  have  latterly  seen  —  not  excepting 
the  "Quicksilver  mining,"  or  the  Quartermaster 
General's. 

If  we  analyze  these  accounts,  we  shall  find  the 

Average  interest  upon  investment,  (say)  .  $1,000  00 
Average  working  expenses,      .         .         .     1,800  00 


Total, $2,800  00 

On  the  other  side  the 

Average  cash  sales  are,     ....  $2,600  00 
House  rent  and  home  consumption,        .        900  00 


Total $3,500  00 

14 


2io  MY  FARM. 

Leaving  profit  of  $700,  which  is  equivalent  to  ten 
per  cent  upon  the  supposed  capital ;  —  all  this,  un- 
der the  cheerful  hypothesis  that  personal  super- 
vision is  a  mere  amusement,  and  is  not  justly 
chargeable  to  the  farm.  If  otherwise,  and  the  over- 
look be  rated  as  Government  or  corporate  officials 
rate  such  service,  the  credit  balance  becomes  igno- 
miniously  small 

It  is  to  be  considered,  however,  that  the  growing 
productive  capacity  of  the  soil,  under  generous 
management,  may  be  estimated  at  no  small  per- 
centage ;  and  the  inevitable  increase  in  value  of 
all  lands  in  the  close  neighborhood  of  growing 
towns,  may  be  counted  in  the  light  of  another  per- 
centage. 

All  this  is  not  certainly  very  Ophir  like,  nor  yet 
very  dreary. 

Again,  it  is  to  be  remarked  that  the  entries  for 
labor,  and  incidental  expenses  in  the  accounts  given, 
are  for  those  expenses  only,  which  contributed  di- 
rectly either  to  the  farm  culture,  or  conditions  of 
culture  —  not  all  essential  perhaps,  but  all  contrib- 
utory. If,  however,  the  Bucolic  citizen  have  a  taste 
to  gratify — in  architectural  dovecots,  in  hewn  walls, 
in  removal  of  ledges,  in  graperies,  in  the  planting  of 
long  ranges  of  Osage- Orange  (which  the  winter 
mice  consume),  the  poor  little  credit  balance  of  the 


CROPS   AND  PROFITS.  211 

farm  account  is  quite  lost  in  the  blaze  of  agricult- 
ural splendor. 

I  do  not  at  all  deny  the  charm  of  such  luxuries. 
I  only  say  —  that  they  are  luxuries ;  and  in  the  pres- 
ent state  of  the  butter  and  egg  markets,  must  be 
paid  for  as  such.  And  the  life  that  is  lived  amid 
such  luxuries  is  not  so  much  a  farm  life,  as  it  is  a 
life  —  a  long  way  from  town. 

Bus  Tioc  vocari  debet,  an  domus  longef 

It  is  the  irony  of  Martial  in  the  concluding  line  of 
his  Faustine  epigram  ;  and  with  it,  I  whip  my  chap- 
ter of  figures  to  a  close. 


Money-Making  Farmers, 

TTTHERE  are  the  men  then,  who  have  grubbed 
out  of  the  reluctant  eastern  soil,  their 
stocking-legs  of  specie,  and  their  funds  at  the  bank  ? 
They  are  not  wholly  myths  ;  there  are  such.  Find 
me  a  man,  who,  by  aptitude  at  bargaining  (let  us 
not  call  it  jockeyism),  can  reduce  the  labor  esti- 
mates in  the  foregoing  accounts  by  a  third  ;  and 
who,  by  a  kindred  quality,  can  add  to  the  amount  of 
sales  by  a  third ;  who  can,  by  dint  of  early  rising 
and  perpetual  presence,  stretch  the  ten-hour  system 


212  MY  FARM. 

into  twelve  or  fourteen ;  who,  by  a  conquest  of  all 
finer  appetites,  can  reduce  the  home  consumption  to 
a  third  of  the  figure  named  in  my  estimates,  and 
you  have  a  type  of  one  class.  A  union  of  tremen- 
dous energy  and  shrewdness ;  keenly  alive  to  the 
phases  of  the  market ;  an  ally  of  all  the  hucksters  ; 
sharp  to  pounce  upon  some  poor  devil  of  an  emi- 
grant, before  he  has  learned  the  current  rate  of 
wages ;  gifted  with  a  quick  scent  for  all  offal,  which 
may  be  had  for  the  cartage,  and  which  goes  to  pig 
food,  or  the  fermentation  of  compost. 

I  think  I  have  hinted  at  a  character  which  those 
will  recognize,  who  know  the  neighborhood  of  large 
New  England  towns:  a  prompt  talker — not  bashful, 
—  full  of  life  —  selectman,  perhaps  ;  great  in  corner 
groceries,  "  forehanded,"  indefatigable,  trenchant, 
with  an  eye  always  to  windward. 

If  I  were  to  sketch  another  type  of  a  New  Eng- 
land farmer,  who  is,  in  a  small  way,  successful,  —  it 
would  be  a  sharp-nosed  man,  thin,  wiry,  with  a 
blueness  about  the  complexion,  that  has  come  from 
unlimited  buffetings  of  northwesters ;  one  who  has 
been  "  moderator  "  at  town  meetings,  in  his  day,  and 
upon  school  committees  over  and  over ;  one  who 
has  sharpened  his  tongue  by  occasional  talk  at 
"society  meetings" — to  say  nothing  of  domestic 
practice. 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  213 

I  think  of  him  as  living  in  a  two-story,  white 
house,  with  green  blinds  (abutting  closely  upon  the 
road),  and  whose  front  rooms  he  knows  only  by 
half-yearly  summations  to  a  minister's  tea-drinking, 
or  the  severer  ordeal  of  the  sewing  circle.  His 
hands  are  stiff  and  bony  ;  all  the  callosities  of  axe 
and  scythe  and  hoe,  have  blended  into  one  horny 
texture,  the  whole  of  the  epidermis  ;  yet  his  eye  has 
a  keen  shrewd  flash  in  it,  from  the  depths  of  sixty 
years ;  and  under  the  hair  of  his  temple,  you  may 
see  a  remaining  bit  of  bleached  skin,  which  shows 
that  he  was  —  fifty  odd  years  ago  —  a  fair-complex- 
ioned  boy. 

He  has  grown  gray  upon  his  straggling  farm  of 
one  or  two  hundred  acres  ;  yet  it  is  doubtful  if  the 
farm  will  produce  more  now,  than  on  the  day  he 
entered  into  possession.  Some  walls  have  been  re- 
newed, and  the  old  ones  are  tottering.  Broken  bar- 
ways  have  been  replaced  by  new  ones ;  the  wood 
pile  has  its  stock  year  after  year ;  and  every  tenth 
year,  when  oil  is  down,  the  house  has  its  coat  of 
paint  —  himself  being  mixer  and  painter  —  save  un- 
der the  eaves,  for  which  ladder  work,  he  employs  a 
country  journeyman,  who  takes  half  pay  in  pork  or 
grain.  "When  "help"  is  low,  he  clears  some  out- 
standing 170  field,  and  commences  a  new  bit  of  wall 
—  a  disunited  link,  which  possibly  his  heirs  may 


214  MY  FARM. 

complete.  Every  year,  six,  ten,  or  twelve  hogs  grow 
into  plethoric  proportions ;  every  year  they  are 
butchered,  under  a  great  excitement  of  hot  water, 
lard-tryings,  unctuous  fatty  smells  —  sausage  stuff- 
ing, and  sales  to  the  "  packer  "  of  the  town.  Every 
year  he  tells  their  weight  to  his  neighbors,  between 
services,  at  meeting — with  his  thumb  and  fore- 
finger in  the  pocket  of  his  black  waistcoat,  and  the 
same  sly  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

Every  spring  he  has  his  "  veals  "  —  four,  six,  ten, 
—  as  the  case  may  be  ;  and  every  spring  he  higgles 
in  much  the  same  way  with  the  town  butcher,  in 
regard  to  age,  to  price,  and  to  fatness.  Every  sum- 
mer I  see  him  in  black  hat  and  black  dress  coat,  on 
his  wagon  box,  with  butter  firkins  behind  (the 
covers  closed  on  linen  towels  by  the  mistress  at 
home),  driving  to  the  market  .  And  if  I  trot  behind 
him  on  his  return,  I  see  that  his  exchange  has  pro- 
cured him  a  two-gallon  jug  of  molasses,  a  savory 
bundle  of  dried  codfish,  a  moisty  paper  parcel  of 
brown  sugar,  a  tight  little  bag  of  timothy  seed,  and 
a  new  hoe,  or  dung  fork.  But  he  never  allows  his 
spendings  to  take  up  the  gross  sum  of  his  receipts  ; 
always  there  goes  home  a  modicum,  which  grows  by 
slow  and  gradual  accretions  into  notes  (secured  by 
mortgage),  of  some  unthrifty  neighbor,  or  an  entry 
upon  the  columns  of  his  book  at  the  Savings. 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  215 

There  is  no  amateur  of  them  all,  who  receives  as 
much  into  a  third,  for  what  he  may  have  to  sell ; 
nor  any  one  who  spends  as  little,  by  two-thirds,  for 
what  he  may  have  to  buy.  It  is  incredible  what 
such  a  man  will  save  in  the  way  of  barter ;  and 
equally  incredible  how  rarely  he  finds  occasion  to 
pay  out  money  at  all.  Yet  he  is  observant  of  pro- 
prieties ;  his  pew-rent  at  the  meeting  house,  and 
tax  bills  are  punctually  honored.  If  I  bargain  with 
him,  he  loves  deliberation  ;  he  has  an  opinion,  but  it 
only  appears  after  long  travail,  and  comparison  of 
views  —  in  the  course  of  which,  he  has  whittled  a 
stout  billet  of  wood  to  a  very  fine  point.  If  I  ad- 
dress him  in  the  field,  he  stops  —  leans  on  his  hoe 
—  and  is  willing  to  lavish  upon  me  the  only  valua- 
ble commodity  for  which  he  makes  no  charge,  to 
wit  —  his  time. 

Such  a  farmer  repairs  his  barn  promptly,  when 
the  sills  are  giving  way  ;  he  does  not  hesitate  at  the 
purchase  of  a  "  likely  pair  of  cattle  "  at  a  bargain  ; 
he  will  buy  occasional  bags  of  guano,  upon  proof  in 
his  turnip  patch,  or  on  his  winter  rye  ;  but  if  a  sub- 
soil plow  is  recommended,  he  gives  a  sly  twinkle  to 
that  gray  eye  of  his,  and  a  complimentary  allusion 
to  the  old  "Eagle  No.  4,"  which  settles  the  business. 

Such  men  are  in  their  way  —  money-makers  ;  but 
rather  by  dint  of  not  spending,  than  by  large 


216  MY  FARM. 

profits.  These  back-country  gentlemen  have  their 
families — educated  (thanks  to  our  school  system) ;  — 
boys,  lank  at  the  first,  in  short-armed  coats,  and  with 
a  pinch  of  the  vowel  sounds  in  their  speech ;  but 
they  do  not  linger  around  such  a  homestead  ;  they 
come  to  the  keeping  of  hotels,  or  of  woodyards  on 
the  Mississippi ;  the  names  of  many  are  written  down 
in  the  dead-books  of  the  war. 

Our  money-saving  farmer  has  his  daughter  too, 
with  her  Chrysanthemums  and  striped-grass  at  the 
door,  and  her  pink  monster  of  a  Hydrangea.  She 
has  her  Lady's  Book,  and  her  Ledger,  and  on  such 
literary  food  grows  apace ;  but  such  reading  does 
not  instil  a  healthy  admiration  for  the  dairy  or 
butter-making ;  rosy  cheeks  and  incarmined  arms 
do  no  belong  to  the  heroines  of  her  dreams.  I  do 
not  think  she  ever  heard  of  Kit  Marlowe's  song :  — 

'*  Come  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love." 

The  faint  echoes  of  the  town  in  fashion  plates  and 
sensation  stories,  make  a  weird,  intoxicating  music, 
in  listening  to  which,  in  weary  bewilderment,  she 
has  no  ear  for  a  brisk  bird-song.  No  wild  flowers 
from  the  wood  are  domesticated  at  her  door.  I 
catch  no  sight  of  sun  bonnets,  or  of  garden  trowels. 
Out-of-door  life  is  shunned ;  and  hence,  come  sal- 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  217 

lowness,  unhealthiness,  narrowness  —  not  even  the 
well-developed  physique  of  the  town  girl,  who  has 
the  pavements  for  her  marches  and  countermarches. 
I  hear,  indeed,  in  summer  weather,  the  tinkle  of  a 
piano ;  but  it  frights  away  the  wrens ;  and  of  the 
two,  I  must  say  that  I  prefer  the  wrens. 

All  this  unfits  for  thorough  sympathy  with  the 
every-day  life  of  the  father;  and  when  common 
sympathies  do  not  unite  a  family,  its  career  breaks 
at  the  death  of  the  patron.  If  there  be  nothing  in 
the  country  life  which  can  call  out  and  sustain  the 
pride  of  all  members  of  the  country  family,  it  can 
never  offer  tempting  career  to  the  young. 

From  these  causes  it  is,  that  Dorothy  will  very 
likely  grow  into  a  wrinkle-faced  old  maid,  hopeful 
of  anything  but  the  tender  longing  of  Overbury's 
"Faire  Milke-Maide."  Too  instructed  to  admire  the 
sharp  roughnesses  of  her  wiry  papa  ;  too  liberalized, 
it  may  be,  by  her  reading,  to  bear  mildly  his  peevish 
closeness ;  not  kindling  into  a  love  of  the  beauties 
of  nature,  because  none  will  sympathize  with  that 
love  —  dreaming  over  books  that  carry  her  to  a  land 
of  mirage,  and  make  her  still  more  unfit  for  the 
every  day  duties  of  lif e ;  —  not  recognizing  the  hero- 
ism of  successful  struggle  with  mediocrity  and 
homely  duties ;  —  yearning  for  what  is  not  to  be 
hers,  she  is  the  ready  victim  of  illnesses  against 


2i8  My  FARM. 

which  she  has  neither  the  vigor  nor  the  wish  to 
struggle. 

"  So,  Dorothy  is  gone !  Squire,"  says  the  country 
parson  ;  "Let  us  pray  to  God  for  his  blessing." 

The  darkened  parlors  are  opened  now  ;  the  far- 
mer's daughter  is  a  bride,  and  death  is  the  groom. 

The  gilt-backed  books  are  dusted ;  the  cobwebs 
swept  away  ;  the  black  dress-suit  rebrushed ;  the 
twinkle  of  the  eye  is  temporarily  banished ;  the 
neighbors  are  gathered  ;  the  warning  spoken  ;  the 
procession  moves  ;  and  the  grave  closes  it  alL 

The  Artemisias  bloom  on,  and  the  purple  tufts  of 
Hydrangea  ;  —  poor  Dorothy's  flowers ! 

It  is  a  little  picture  from  the  life  of  certain 
money-making  farmers,  who  pinch  —  to  save.  There 
is  a  jingling  resonance  of  money  at  the  end,  but  it 
is  not  tempting ;  it  has  come  upon  a  barren  life, 
without  glow  or  reach  —  a  life  whose  parlors  have 
been  always  closed. 

Does  Farming  Pay  f 

A  ND  now  let  us  prcciser  the  whole  matter,  and 
•4-*-  get  rid,  if  we  can,  of  that  interminable  ques- 
tion —  does  Farming  pay  ? 

Will  shop-keeping  pay?  Will  tailoring  or  Doc- 
toring pay?  Will  life  pay?  How  do  these  ques- 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  219 

tiona  sound  ?  And  yet  they  are  as  reasonable  as  the 
one  we  come  to  consider.  Tell  me  of  the  capacity 
of  the  Doctor — of  the  tailor;  tell  me  of  his  location, 
and  of  his  aptitude  for  the  business,  and  I  can 
answer.  Tell  me  of  what  material  you  propose  to 
make  a  farmer,  tell  me  of  his  habits,  and  of  the  con- 
dition of  his  soil  and  markets,  and  I  can  tell  you  if 
he  will  find  a  profit  or  none  ;  and  this,  without  re- 
gard to  Liebig,  Short-horns,  or  the  mineral  theory. 

Successful  farming,  it  must  be  understood,  is  not 
that  which  secures  a  large  moneyed  result  this  year, 
and  the  next  year,  and  the  year  after ;  but  it  is  that 
which  insures  to  the  land  a  constantly  accumulating 
fertility,  in  connection  with  remunerative  results. 
The  theory  of  the  agricultural  doctors,  that  every 
year,  as  much  of  the  nutritive  elements  of  land 
should  be  restored,  as  the  annual  cropping  removes, 
may  be  good  ruling  for  virgin  soil,  or  for  the  Lo- 
thians,  or  Belgian  gardens ;  but  for  neglected  or 
poor  soil,  a  larger  restoration  is  needed ;  —  if  not  by 
manures,  then  by  tillage  or  drainage.  Exact  equi- 
poise is  difficult,  and  implies  no  advance.  It  is  nei- 
ther easy  nor  desirable  to  be  forever  balancing  one- 
self upon  a  tight-rope.  If  progressive  farming  will 
not  pay,  it  is  quite  certain  that  no  other  farming 
will. 

I    know   there   are   many    quiet  old  gentlemen 


220  MY  FARM. 

among  the  hills,  who  have  a  sleepy  way  of  putting 
in  their  corn  patch  year  after  year,  and  a  sleepy  way 
of  clearing  out  their  meagre  pittance  of  drenched 
manure,  and  a  sleepy  way  of  never  spending,  who 
drop  off  some  day,  leaving  money  in  their  purse ; 
but  such  success  does  not  tempt  the  young  ;  it  gives 
no  promise  of  a  career.  "  Pork  and  cabbage  for 
dinner,  and  the  land  left  lean,"  —  might  be  written 
on  their  gravestones. 

The  faculty  of  not-spending,  is  cultivated  by 
many  farmers,  a  great  deal  more  faithfully  than 
their  lands  ;  but  the  faculty  of  right-spending  (fa- 
cultas  impendendi)*  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  signal 
success  in  agriculture,  as  in  other  business  pursuits. 
This  kind  of  enterprise  is  what  farmers  specially 
lack  ;  and  the  lack  is  due  to  the  secure  tenure  by 
which  they  hold  their  property.  The  shopkeeper 
who  turns  his  capital  three  or  four  times  in  a  year, 
and  who  knows  that  an  old  stock  of  goods  will  in- 
volve heavy  losses,  is  stimulated  to  constant  activity 
and  watchfulness.  The  farmer,  on  the  other  hand, 
inheriting  his  little  patch  of  land,  and  feeling  rea- 
sonably sure  of  his  corn  and  bacon,  and  none  of 

*The  language  of  Columella,  which  is  as  keen  and  as 
much  to  the  point  now  as  in  the  time  of  Tiberius  :  —  "  Qui 
stiulium  agricclationi  dederit,  sciat  hcec  sibi  advocanda :  pru- 
dentiam  rri,  facultatem  impendendi^  roluntatem  agendi." 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  221 

that  incentive  which  attends  risk,  yields  himself  to  a 
stolid  indifference,  that  overlays  all  his  faculties. 
Yet  some  of  the  Agricultural  papers  tell  us  with 
pride,  that  bankruptcies  among  farmers  are  rare. 
Pray  why  should  they  not  be  rare  ?  The  man  who 
never  mounts  a  ladder,  will  most  surely  never  have 
a  fall  from  one.  Dash,  enterprise,  spirit,  wakeful- 
ness,  have  their  hazards,  and  always  will ,;  but  if  a 
man  sleep,  the  worst  that  can  befall  him  is  only  a 
bad  dream.  This  lethargy  on  the  part  of  so  many 
who  are  content  with  their  pork  dinners  and  small 
spendings,  is  very  harmful  to  the  Agricultural  in- 
terests of  the  country.  Young  America  abhors 
sleepiness,  and  does  not  gravitate,  of  choice,  toward 
a  pursuit  which  seems  to  encourage  it.  The  conclu- 
sion and  the  conviction  have  been,  with  earnest 
young  men,  that  a  profession  which  did  not  stimu- 
late to  greater  activity  and  larger  triumphs,  and  a 
more  Christian  amplitude  of  life,  could  not  be  worth 
the  following.  Nothing  about  it  or  in  it  seemed  to 
have  affinity  with  the  great  springs  of  human  prog- 
ress otherwheres ;  a  lumpish,  serf  life,  it  seemed  — 
bound  to  the  glebe,  and  cropping  its  nourishment 
thence,  like  kine. 

Again,  the  extravagance  of  those  who  have  under- 
taken farming  as  a  mere  amusement,  has  greatly 
damaged  its  character  as  a  pursuit  worthy  the  en- 


222  MY  FARM. 

listment  of  earnest  workers.  Our  friend,  Mr.  Tall- 
weed,  who,  with  his  Wall-street  honors  fresh  upon 
him,  comes  to  the  country  to  grow  tomatoes  at  a 
cost  of  five  dollars  the  dozen,  and  who  puts  a  sack 
of  superphosphate  to  a  garden  row  of  sweet  corn, 
may  make  monstrosities  for  the  exhibition  tables, 
but  he  is  not  inviting  emulation  ;  he  is  simply  com- 
mitting an  Agricultural  debauch.  And  an  Agricult- 
ural debauch  pays  no  better  than  any  other. 

But  between  these  extremes,  there  is  room  for  a 
sober  business  faculty,  and  for  an  array  of  good 
sense.  With  these  two  united,  success  may  be 
counted  on  ;  not  brilliant  perhaps,  for  in  farming 
there  are  no  opportunities  for  sudden  or  explosive 
success.  The  farmer  digs  into  no  gold  lead.  He 
springs  no  trap,  like  the  lawyer  or  tradesmen.  His 
successes,  when  most  decided,  are  orderly,  normal, 
and  cumulative.  He  must  needs  bring  a  cool  tem- 
per, and  the  capacity  —  to  wait  If  he  plant  a  thou- 
sand guineas  —  however  judiciously,  —  they  will  not 
sprout  to-morrow.  There  have  been,  I  know,  Multi- 
caulis  fevers,  and  Peabody  seedlings  ;  but  these  are 
exceptional;  and  the  prizes  which  come  through 
subornation  of  the  Patent  Office,  are  rare,  and 
dearly  paid  for. 

Again,  it  must  be  remembered,  that  all  success 
depends  more  on  the  style  of  the  man,  than  on  the 


CROPS  AND    PROFITS.  223 

style  of  his  business.  For  one  who  is  thoroughly  in 
earnest,  farming  offers  a  fair  field  for  effort.  But 
the  man  who  is  only  half  in  earnest,  who  thinks  that 
costly  barns,  and  imported  stock,  and  jaunty  fenc- 
ing, and  a  nicely-rolled  lawn  are  the  great  objects  of 
attainment,  may  accomplish  pretty  results ;  but  they 
will  be  small  ones. 

So  the  dilettante  farmer,  who  has  a  smattering 
of  science,  whose  head  is  filled  with  nostrums,  who 
thinks  his  salts  will  do  it  all ;  who  doses  a  crop  — 
now  to  feebleness,  and  now  to  an  unnatural  exuber- 
ance ;  who  dawdles  over  his  fermentations,  while  the 
neighbor's  oxen  are  breaking  into  his  rye  field  ;  who 
has  no  managing  capacity — no  breadth  of  vision,  — 
who  sends  two  men  to  accomplish  the  work  of  one 
—  let  such  give  up  all  hope  of  making  farming  a 
lucrative  pursuit.  If,  however,  a  man  be  entirely  in 
earnest,  if  he  have  the  sagacity  to  see  all  over  his 
farm  —  to  systematize  his  labor,  to  carry  out  his 
plans  punctually  and  thoroughly  ;  if  he  is  not  above 
economies,  nor  heedless  of  the  teachings  of  science, 
nor  unobservant  of  progress  otherwheres  —  let  him 
work,  —  for  he  will  have  his  reward. 

But  even  such  an  one  may,  very  likely,  never 
come  to  his  "four  in  hand,"  except  they  be  colts 
of  his  own  raising;  or  to  private  concerts  in  his 
grounds  —  except  what  the  birds  make. 


IV. 

HINDRANCES   AND    HELPS. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS. 


The  Argument. 

TT  will  be  perceived  by  the  reader  who  has  been 
kind  enough  to  follow  me  thus  far,  that  this 
book  neither  professes  to  be  wholly  practical,  nor 
yet  wholly  fanciful.  It  is  —  if  I  may  use  a  profes- 
sional expression  —  the  fruit  from  a  graft  of  the 
fanciful,  set  upon  the  practical ;  and  this  is  a  style 
of  grafting  which  is  of  more  general  adoption  in  the 
world  than  we  are  apt  to  imagine.  Commercial  life 
is  not  wholly  free  from  this  easy  union,  —  nor  yet 
the  clerical.  All  speculative  forays,  whether  in  the 
southern  seas  or  on  the  sea  of  metaphysics,  are  to 
be  credited  to  the  graft  Fancy ;  and  all  routine, 
whether  of  ledger  or  of  liturgy,  go  to  the  stock- 
account  of  the  Practical,  Nor  is  the  last  necessarily 


228  MY  FARM. 

always  profit,  and  the  other  always  loss.  There  are, 
I  am  sure,  a  great  many  Practical  failures  in  the 
world,  and  the  number  of  Fanciful  successes  is  un- 
bounded. 

I  have  endeavored  more  especially  to  meet  and  to 
guide,  so  far  as  I  may,  the  mental  drift  of  those  who 
think  of  rural  life,  either  present  or  prospective,  — 
not  as  a  mere  money-making  career  (like  a  dip  into 
mining)  —  nor  yet  as  the  idle  gratification  of  a  ca- 
price. Xo  sensible  man  who  establishes  himself  in  a 
country  home,  desires  that  the  acres  about  him 
should  prove  wholly  unremunerative,  and  simple 
conduits  of  his  money  ;  nor  yet  does  he  wish  to 
drive  such  a  sharp  bargain  with  his  land  as  will 
cause  his  home  to  be  shorn  of  all  the  luxuries,  and 
the  legitimate  charms  of  a  country  life.  It  is  need- 
less to  say  that  I  hope  for  sensible  readers,  and 
direct  my  observations  accordingly.  With  this  in- 
tent I  propose,  in  this  last  division  of  my  book,  to 
review  all  the  helps  and  hindrances  to  the  success 
and  the  rational  enjoyment  of  a  farm-life.  I  shall 
not  reason  the  matter  so  closely  as  I  might  do,  if  I 
were  addressing  the  attendants  upon  a  County-Fair, 
but  shall  scatter  my  hints  and  experiences  through 
a  somewhat  ample  margin  of  illustrative  text,  from 
which  the  practical  man  may  excerpt  his  little  nug- 
gets of  information  or  suggestion, — as  the  case  may 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  229 

be  ;  and  the  reader  who  is  pastorally  inclined,  may 
find  frequent  dashes  of  country  perfume,  that  shall 
deftly  cover  the  ammoniacal  scents. 


Agricultural  Chemistry. 

~VTT~HEN  a  man  buys  clean  copies  of  Liebig  and 
*  *  of  Boussingault,  and  walks  into  possession 
of  his  land  with  the  books  under  his  arm,  and  an 
assured  conviction  that  with  their  aid,  he  is  about 
to  supplant  altogether  the  old  practice,  and  commit 
havoc  with  old  theories,  and  raise  stupendous  crops, 
and  drive  all  his  old-fashioned  neighbors  to  the 
wall,  —  he  is  laboring  under  a  mistake.  His  calves 
will  very  likely  take  the  "  scours ; "  the  cut-worms 
will  slice  off  his  phosphated  corn  ;  the  Irish  maid 
will  pound  his  cream  into  a  frothy  chowder ;  —  in 
which  events  he  will  probably  lose  his  temper  ;  or, 
if  a  cool  man,  will  retire  under  a  tree,  and  read  a 
fresh  chapter  out  of  Liebig. 

There  are  a  great  many  contingencies  about  farm- 
ing, which  chemistry  does  not  cover,  and  probably 
never  will.  People  talk  of  agricultural  chemistry  as 
if  it  were  a  special  chemistry  for  the  farmer's  advan- 
tage. The  truth  is  (and  it  was  well  set  forth,  I  re- 
member, in  a  lecture  of  Professor  Johnson's),  there 


230  MY  FARM. 

is  no  such  thing  as  agricultural  chemistry  ;  and  the 
term  is  not  only  a  misnomer,  but  misleads  egregi- 
ously.  There  is  no  more  a  chemistry  of  agriculture 
than  there  is  a  chemistry  of  horse-flesh,  or  a  con- 
chology  of  egg-shells.  Chemistry  concerns  all  or- 
ganic and  inorganic  matters ;  and,  if  you  have  any 
of  these  about  your  barn-yards,  it  concerns  them ;  it 
tells  you  —  if  your  observation  and  experience  can't 
determine  —  what  they  are.  Of  course  it  may  be  an 
aid  to  agriculture ;  and  so  are  wet-weather,  and  a 
good  hoe,  and  grub,  and  common-sense,  and  indus- 
try. It  may  explain  things  you  would  not  otherwise 
understand  ;  it  may  correct  errors  of  treatment ;  it 
may  protect  you  from  harpies  who  vend  patented 
manures  —  not  because  it  is  agricultural  chemistry  ; 
but,  I  should  say  rather,  looking  to  a  good  deal  of 
farm  practice  —  because  it  is  not  agricultural,  and 
because  it  deals  in  certainties,  and  not  plausibilities. 
There  is  such  a  thing  as  religion,  and  it  helps,  some- 
times, to  purify  Democrats  and  sometimes  Republi- 
cans ;  but  who  thinks  of  talking  —  unless  his  head 
is  turned  —  about  democratic  religion,  or  republican 
Christianity  ? 

The  error  of  the  thing  works  ill,  as  all  errors  do 
in  the  end.  It  indoctrinates  weak  cultivators  with 
the  belief  that  the  truths  they  find  set  down  in  agri- 
cultural chemistries,  are  agricultural  truths,  as  well 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  231 

as  chemical  truths ;  and  thereupon,  they  mount  a 
promising  one  as  a  hobby,  and  go  riding  to  the  wall. 
Chemistry  is  an  exact  science,  and  Agriculture  is  an 
experimental  art,  and  always  will  be,  until  rains 
stop,  and  bread  grows  full-baked.  A  chemical  truth 
is  a  truth  for  all  the  world  and  the  ages  to  come ; 
and  if  you  can  use  it  in  the  making  of  shoe-blacking, 
or  to  dye  your  whiskers,  — do  so ;  but  don't  for  that 
reason  call  it  Whisker-chemistry. 

It  is  a  chemical  truth  that  an  alkali  will  neutralize 
an  acid  if  you  furnish  enough  of  it ;  and  if,  with  that 
truth  festering  in  your  brain,  you  can  contrive  to 
neutralize  your  entire  fund  of  oxalic  acid,  so  that  no 
sorrel  shall  thenceforth  grow,  —  pray  do  so.  But  I 
do  not  think  you  can  ;  and  first,  because  the  soil  — 
to  which  quarter  you  would  very  naturally  direct 
your  alkaline  attack  —  may  be  utterly  free  of  any 
oxalic  acid  whatever ;  its  presence  in  the  plant,  is  no 
evidence  of  its  presence  in  the  soiL  Pears  have  a 
modicum  of  pectic  acid  at  a  certain  stage  of  their 
ripeness,  but  I  suspect  it  would  puzzle  a  sharp 
chemist  to  detect  any  in  the  soil  of  a  pear-orchard. 
And  even  if  the  acid  were  a  mineral  acid,  and  were 
neutralized  —  it  must  be  remembered  —  that  to 
neutralize,  is  only  to  establish  change  of  condition, 
and  not  to  destroy  ;  —  how  know  you  that  the  little 
fibrous  rootlets  will  not  presently  be  laying  their 


232  MY  FARM. 

fine  mouths  to  the  neutral  base,  and  by  a  subtle 
alchemy  of  their  own,  work  out  such  restoration  as 
shall  mock  at  your  efforts  —  in  all  their  rampant 
green,  and  their  red  or  white  tassels  of  bloom  ? 

The  presence  of  any  particular  substance  in  a 
crop,  does  not  ipso  facto,  warrant  the  application  of 
the  same  substance  to  the  soil  as  the  condition  of 
increased  vigor.  The  man  who,  —  having  retired  to 
the  shade  for  a  fresh  chapter  of  Liebig,  —  finds  that 
cellulose  enters  largely  into  the  structure  of  his 
plants,  and  thereupon  gives  his  crops  a  dressing  of 
clean,  pine  saw-dust,  would  very  likely  have  his 
labor  for  his  pains.  That  wonderful  vital  laboratory 
of  the  plant,  has  its  own  way  of  effecting  combina- 
tions ;  and  stealing,  as  it  does,  the  elements  of  its 
needed  cellulose,  in  every  laughing  toss  of  its  leaves 
—  it  scorns  your  offering. 

It  is  a  chemical  truth  that  the  starch  in  potatoes 
or  wheat,  is  the  same  thing  with  the  woody  fibre  of 
a  tree  ;  but  it  is  not  an  agricultural  fact  —  differs  as 
widely  from  it,  in  short,  as  a  stiffened  shirt-collar 
from  the  main-mast  of  a  three-decker  ship.  A  farm- 
er comes  to  the  chemist  with  some  dust  or  bolus 
from  a  far-away  place,  and  asks  what  is  in  it ;  he 
can  tell  upon  examination,  and  if,  after  such  exam- 
ination he  finds  it  to  possess  a  large  percentage  of 
soluble  phosphoric  acid,  he  will  advise  its  use  as  a 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  233 

manure,  and  can  promise  that  it  will  contribute 
largely  to  the  vigor  of  a  wheat  crop  ;  all  this  —  not 
simply  because  phosphoric  acid  is  a  constituent  part 
of  the  grain,  but  because  he  knows  that  other  dress- 
ings containing  a  like  element,  have  invariably  so 
contributed  ;  the  fact  being  established  by  repeated 
farm-trials.  But  it  is  not  a  result  determinable,  so 
far  as  a  field-crop  is  concerned,  by  simple  chemical 
investigation  ;  nor  could  it  be  so  determinable,  un- 
less you  could  establish  the  crop  and  feed  it,  under 
those  conditions  of  alienation  from  all  other  in- 
fluences, by  which  or  under  which  alone,  the  chem- 
ist is  enabled  to  establish  the  severity  of  his  conclu- 
sions. 

The  power  of  the  chemist  to  decompose,  to  un- 
ravel, to  tear  in  pieces,  and  to  name  and  classify 
every  separate  part,  is  something  wonderful ;  but 
his  power  to  combine  is  less  miraculous.  •  Give  him 
ah1  the  carbonic  acid  in  the  world  and  he  cannot 
make  us  a  diamond,  or  a  lump  of  charcoal.  And 
when,  with  the  natural  combination  is  associated  a 
vital  principle,  (as  in  plants),  controlling,  amplifying, 
decomposing  at  its  will,  his  power  shrinks  into  still 
smaller  dimensions.  Faithful  and  long-continued 
observation  of  the  mysterious  processes  of  nature, 
will  alone  justify  a  theory  of  plant  nutrition.  A 
large  part  of  this  observation  is  supplied  by  the  his- 


234  MY  FARM. 

tory  of  farm-experiences,  and  another  part  is  sup- 
plied by  the  earnest  investigations  of  special  scien- 
tific inquirers.  Where  the  two  tally  and  sustain 
each  other,  —  one  may  be  sure  of  standing  upon 
safe  ground.  But  where  they  are  antagonistic,  one 
has  need  to  weigh  conflicting  evidence  well,  not  pre- 
suming hastily  that  either  practical  experience,  or  a 
special  science  has,  as  yet,  a  monopoly  of  all  the 
truths  which  lie  at  the  base  of  the  "  mystery  of  hus- 
bandry." For  these  reasons  it  is,  that  I  say,  —  let 
no  man  rashly  hope  to  revolutionize  farming,  upon 
the  strength  of  clean  copies  of  Liebig  and  Boussin- 
gault 

A  Gypseous  Illustration. 

rjlHE  farming  community  has  a  great  respect  for 
"*-  men  of  science  ;  it  never  thinks  of  distrusting 
any  of  their  dicta,  so  long  as  they  are  conveyed  in 
scientific  and  only  half-intelligible  language.  The 
working  farmer  is  altogether  too  busy  and  shrewd  a 
man  to  controvert  a  statement  of  which  he  has  only 
vague  and  muddy  comprehension.  His  dignity  is 
saved,  by  bowing  acquiescence,  and  passing  it  un- 
challenged. Thus, — if  the  Professor,  talking  in  the 
interests  of  agriculture,  says  :  "Gypsum  is  very  ser- 
viceable in  fixing  the  ammonia  which  is  brought 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  235 

down  from  the  atmosphere  by  showers,"  the  com- 
mon-sense farm-listener  is  disposed  to  admit  so  airy 
a  truth.  But  if  the  Professor,  meeting  him  over  the 
fence,  says :  "  Plaster  is  an  excellent  manure,"  the 
common-sense  man  retorts : 

"  Waal  —  d'n'know  ;  depends  a  leetle  upon  the 
sile,  in  my  opinion." 

But  as  the  scientific  man  confines  himself  mostly 
to  the  language  of  the  desk,  and  meets  with  an  ad- 
miring assent,  he  is  apt,  I  think,  to  generalize  some- 
what too  loosely  and  rashly  in  his  theories  of  ap- 
plied science.  Naturally  enough,  confident  in  the 
results  of  his  own  investigation,  he  entertains  a  cer- 
tain contempt  for  a  merely  empirical  art ;  he  under- 
values the  experience  and  practices  of  its  patrons, 
and  proposes  to  lay  down  a  law  for  them,  which, 
having  scientific  truth  for  its  basis,  may  work  un- 
varying results.  I  do  not  know  how  I  can  better 
illustrate  this,  than  by  noticing  some  of  the  various 
theories  which  have  obtained,  in  respect  to  the  fer- 
tilizing action  of  gypsum. 

A  farmer,  for  instance,  finds  himself  within  easy 
reach  of  a  large  supply  of  this  salt,  and  being  chem- 
ically inclined,  he  sets  himself  to  the  task  of  reading 
what  has  been  written  on  the  subject, — in  the 
hope,  possibly,  of  astounding  the  neighbors,  and 
glutting  the  corn  market. 


236  MY  FARM. 

At  the  outset  I  may  remark,  that  farm-experience 
has  as  yet  found  no  law  by  which  to  govern  the  ap- 
plication of  gypsum ;  on  one  field  it  succeeds ;  in 
another,  to  all  appearance  precisely  the  same,  it 
fails ;  at  one  time  it  would  seem  as  if  its  efficacy 
depended  on  showers  following  closely  upon  its  ap- 
plication ;  in  other  seasons,  showers  lose  their  effect. 
In  one  locality,  a  few  bushels  to  the  acre  work 
strange  improvement,  and  in  another,  fifty  bushels 
work  no  change  whatever.  Now — it  is  a  hill  past- 
ure that  delights  in  it,  and  again  —  it  is  an  alluvial 
meadow.  Hence  it  offers  peculiarly  one  of  those 
cases,  where  an  observant  and  earnest  farmer  would 
be  desirous  of  calling  in  the  aid  of  scientific 
opinion. 

And  what  will  he  find  ? 

Sir  Humphry  Davy,  that  devout  old  gentleman, 
who  was  as  good  an  angler  as  he  was  chemist,  ex- 
ploded the  idea  prevalent  in  his  day  —  that  gypsum 
was  beneficial  by  promoting  putrefaction  of  manu- 
rial  substances  —  and  expressed  the  opinion  that  it 
was  absorbed  by  the  plants  bodily ;  at  least  by  those 
plants  whose  ash  showed  large  percentage  of  sul- 
phate of  lime.  Sir  Humphry  was  honest ;  the  theory 
was  not  too  absurd  ;  the  farmers  were  doubtless 
glad  to  get  a  handle  to  their  talk  about  plaster ;  and 
so  for  a  dozen  years  or  more,  the  lucerne  and  clover 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  237 

went  on  absorbing  the  gypsum.  At  last  some  in- 
quisitive party  ascertained,  by  careful  experiment, 
that  a  field  of  clover  not  treated  with  gypsum,  con- 
tained as  large  a  percentage  of  sulphate  of  lime  in 
its  ash,  as  another  field  which  had  been  treated  to 
the  salt.  The  inference  was  plain,  that  the  superior 
vigor  of  the  last  was  not  attributable  to  simple  ab- 
sorption of  the  sulphate,  and  the  theory  of  Davy 
quietly  lapsed. 

Chaptal,  the  French  chemist,  speaks  of  gypsum  in 
a  loose  way  as  a  stimulator ;  but  in  what  particular 
direction  its  stimulating  qualities  are  supposed  to 
work,  he  does  not  inform  us. 

About  the  year  1840,  I  think,  Dr.  Dana,  of  Low- 
ell, published  a  bouncing  little  book  called  a  Muck 
Manual,  in  which  he  affirmed  very  stoutly  that  gyp- 
sum was  quietly  decomposed  by  the  roots  of  the 
plants,  when  its  sulphuric  acid  flew  off  at  the  sili- 
cates, and  worried  them  into  soluble  shape  ;  and  its 
lime,  on  the  other  side,  flew  off  at  the  geine,  pound- 
ing that  into  a  good  relish  ;  in  short,  he  made  out 
so  charming  a  little  theory,  —  so  vivacious  in  its  ac- 
tion, —  so  appetizing  to  turnips,  and  so  authorita- 
tively stated,  that  we  farmers  must  needs  accept  it 
at  a  glance,  and  take  off  our  hats,  with  —  "  That's 
it,"  _  "  I  thought  so,"  —  "  The  very  thing." 

But  straight  upon  this,  like  a  thunder-clap,  comes 


238  MY  FARM. 

Liebig,*  who  declares,  in  his  authoritative  way,  that 
the  value  of  gypsum  "  is  due  to  its  faculty  of  fixing 
the  small  quantity  of  carbonate  of  ammonia,  brought 
down  by  the  rain  and  the  dew ; "  at  this,  we  farmers 
put  on  our  hats  again,  and  waited  for  the  rain. 

Some  two  or  three  years  after,  M.  Boussingault, 
who  had  gone  through  the  South-American  wars 
under  Bolivar,  and  studied  agriculture  at  Quito,  as 
well  as  on  his  own  country-estate  of  Bechelbron, 
entertains  us  with  the  report,  —  in  his  mildly  au- 
thoritative way,  and  sustained  by  great  weight  of 
evidence,  —  that  Dr.  Liebig  is  utterly  wrong  in  his 
theory,  and  that  the  value  of  gypsum  is  due  entirely 
to  the  lime  which  it  introduces  into  the  soil ;  —  the 
sulphuric  acid,  which  played  such  a  lively  game 
under  the  pen  of  Dr.  Dana  —  counting  for  nothing. 

By  the  time  this  stage  of  the  inquiry  is  reached, 
the  investigating  young  farmer,  with  whom  I  entered 
upon  this  illustration,  might  be  safely  supposed  to 
be  slightly  muddled  ;  and  yet,  with  a  comparatively 
clear  recollection  of  the  last-presented  theory  in 
his  mind,  he  might  farther  be  supposed  to  consider 
the  propriety  of  buying  lime  at  eight  cents  a  bushel, 
rather  than  gypsum  at  sixty  cents. 

But  he  has  hardly  formed  this  decision,  and  seen 

*  His  first  book  appeared  in  America,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
in  1841. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  239 

his  lime  dumped  upon  his  clover -field,  when  he  re- 
ceives a  copy  of  Dr.  Liebig's  final  work  upon  the 
Natural  Laws  of  Husbandry.  Turning  with  nervous 
haste  to  the  doctor's  discussion  of  the  sulphate  of 
lime,  he  finds  these  startling  statements :  "  It  may  be 
safely  assumed  that  in  cases  where  gypsum  is  found 
to  be  favorable  to  the  growth  of  clover,  the  cause 
must  not  be  sought  for  in  the  lime  ;  and  since  ara- 
ble soil  has  the  property  of  absorbing  ammonia 
from  the  air  and  rain  water,  and  fixing  it  in  a  higher 
degree  than  salts  of  lime,  there  is  only  the  sulphuric 
acid  left  to  look  to  for  an  explanation  of  the  favora- 
ble action  of  gypsum." 

And  in  this  muddle  I  leave  our  young  farmer, 
contemplating,  in  an  abstracted  manner,  his  lime 
heap,  and  reflecting  upon  the  wonders  of  nature. 

Yet  it  is  not  altogether  a  muddle.  Science  has 
failed  in  substantiating  a  theory  of  action  —  only 
where  all  farm  experience  is  equally  at  fault ;  when 
the  two  march  together,  they  pluck  up  triumphs  by 
the  roots.  The  particular  action  of  gypsum,  with  a 
safe  rule  for  its  application,  remains  one  of  the  mys- 
teries of  the  craft ;  and  there  are  a  great  many 
others.  Science  is  not  discredited,  however,  by  the 
antagonism  of  such  men  as  Liebig  and  Boussingault. 
Stout  men  will  stagger,  when  they  explore  the  way 
for  us  into  the  dark.  The  dignity  of  science  will 


240  MY  FARM. 

suffer  more  from  the  pestilent  iteration  of 
terers  who  presume  to  solve  all  the  riddles  of  nature 
in  their  own  little  retorts.  And  the  danger  is  all 
the  greater  from  the  fact  that  uninstructed  farmers 
render  an  instinctive  respect  and  confidence  to  a 
man  who  professes  familiarity  with  science.  It  is 
never  imagined  by  them,  that  one  who  would  write 
CSH4O8  +  2HO  for  malic  acid,  —  would  tell  an  un- 
truth or  take  airs  upon  himself.  Yet  I  think  it  may 
be  safely  conceded  that  a  rash  man,  or  a  mischiev- 
ous man  may  cover  falsehood  under  such  formulae, 
as  easily  —  as  if  he  edited  a  morning  paper.  And 
I  really  do  not  know  how  I  could  put  the  matter 
more  strongly. 

"With  respect  to  gypsum,  —  and  in  close  of  this 
special  topic, — I  may  say  that  I  have  found  it  some- 
times of  service  upon  young  clover,  and  sometimes 
of  no  service  at  all.  Upon  old  pasture  land,  it  has, 
with  me,  uniformly  counted  for  nothing ;  and  again, 
I  have  never  failed  to  find  an  appreciable  increase 
of  the  crop  of  potatoes,  where  I  have  sown  gypsum 
in  the  trenches  at  planting.  It  is  certain  that  we 
have  no  right  to  condemn  the  salt,  simply  because 
we  cannot  detect  the  precise  mode  of  its  operation. 
That  mode  I  am  inclined  to  believe  very  complex, 
and  that  no  uniform  law  will  ever  meet  the  require- 
ments of  the  case ;  nor  have  I  a  doubt  but  that  in 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  241 

process  of  time,  and  under  the  tests  of  a  future  and 
finer  chemistry,  and  of  a  fuller  experience,  every 
one  of  the  dilute  theories  named,  will  throw  down 
its  little  flocculent  precipitate  of  truth. 


Science  and  Practice. 

T  REMEMBER  once,  in  company  with  a  crowd 
-*-  of  interested  auditors,  listening  to  a  justly  dis- 
tinguished pomologist,  who,  in  the  course  of  his 
peroration  in  praise  of  scientific  study,  suggested 
the  great  advantage  of  analyzing  all  the  different 
pears,  and  the  different  soils  under  culture,  so  that 
they  might  be  minutely  adjusted  each  to  each.  Of 
course  the  worthy  old  gentleman  never  did  such  a 
thing ;  and  (being  a  shrewd  man)  never  means  to. 
Yet  it  seemed  not  a  very  bad  thing  —  to  say.  The 
lesser  pomologists  all  wagged  their  heads  approv- 
ingly, but  without  any  serious  thought  of  following 
the  advice  ;  the  embryo  chemists  fairly  gushed  over 
in  approval ;  and  the  only  doubt  expressed,  was  in 
the  faces  of  certain  earnest,  honest,  old  farmers,  — 
who  had  already  paid  their  twenty-five  dollars  for  a 
soil  analysis,  to  the  eminent  Professor  Mapes, — and 
of  one  or  two  scientific  adepts,  who,  I  thought,  gave 

a  twirl  to  their  tongues  in  the  left  cheek,  —  rather 
16 


242  MY  FARM. 

evasively.  In  general,  I  find  that  the  most  modest 
opinions  in  regard  to  the  agricultural  aids  of  ap- 
plied science,  come  from  the  men  of  most  distin- 
guished scientific  attainment ;  and  the  exaggerated 
promises  and  suggestions  flow  from  those  who  are 
slightly  indoctrinated,  and  who  make  up  by  uproar 
of  words,  and  aggregation  of  pretentious  claims,  for 
the  quiet  confidence  and  far-sighted  moderation  of 
real  science.  Even  so  we  find  a  General  in  com- 
mand—  looking  from  end  to  end  of  the  field  — 
modest  in  his  promises,  doubtful  by  reason  of  his 
knowledge  ;  while  some  blatant  Colonel,  puffy  with 
regimental  valor,  and  knowing  the  positions  only 
by  the  confused  roar  of  artillery,  will  pompously 
threaten  to  bag  every  man  of  the  enemy  I 

But  aside  from  the  exaggeration  alluded  to,  — 
and  of  which  I  should  reckon  so  minute  a  soil- 
analysis  as  to  determine  what  ground  would  most 
favor  the  development  of  pectose  in  a  baking  pear, 
and  of  pectic  acid  in  a  Bartlett,  a  fair  sample,  — 
there  are  other  hindrances  to  the  effective  and 
profitable  co-laboration  of  scientific  men  with  the 
practical  farmer.  The  latter  has  a  wall  about  him 
of  self-confidence,  ignorance  of  technicals,  great 
common-sense,  and  awkward  prejudices,  which  the 
scientific  man,  with  his  precision,  his  fineness  of  ob- 
servation, his  remote  analogies,  and  his  impatience 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  243 

of  guess-work,  is  not  accustomed  or  fitted  to  under- 
mine. He  may  breach  indeed  successfully  all  the 
old  methods ;  but  if  the  old  methodist  does  not 
detect,  or  recognize  the  breach,  what  boots  it? 
Science  must  stoop  to  the  work,  and  show  him  a 
corn  crop  that  is  larger  and  grown  more  cheaply 
than  his  own  ;  this  is  sending  a  shot  home. 

Let  me  illustrate,  by  a  little  talk,  which  I  think 
will  have  the  twang  of  realism  about  it. 

A  shrewd  chemist,  devoting  himself  to  the  mis- 
sionary work  of  building  up  farming  by  the  aid  of 
his  science,  pays  a  parochial  visit  to  one  of  the  back- 
sliders whom  he  counts  most  needful  of  reforma- 
tion. The  backslider,  —  I  will  call  him  Nathan,  — 
is  breaking  up  a  field,  and  is  applying  the  manure 
in  an  unfermented  and  unctuous  state  ;  —  the  very 
act  of  sinning,  according  to  the  particular  theory 
of  our  chemist,  perhaps,  who  urges  that  manures 
should  be  applied  only  after  thorough  fermentation. 

He  approaches  our  ploughing  farmer  with  a 
"Good  morning." 

"Mornin5,"  returns  Nathan  (who  never  wastes 
words  in  compliment). 

"  I  see  you  use  your  manure  unfermented." 

"  Waal,  I  d'n'know  —  guess  it's  about  right ; 
smells  pooty  good,  doan't  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  don't  you  lose  something  in  the  smell?" 


244  MY  FARM. 

"  Waal,  d'nTmow  ;  —  kind  o'  hard  to  bottle  much 
of  a  smell,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"But  why  don't  you  compost  it;  pack  up  your 
long  manure  with  turf  and  muck,  so  that  they  will 
absorb  the  ammonia  ?  " 

"  The  what  ?  —  (Gee,  Bright !)  " 

"  Ammonia  ;  precisely  what  makes  the  guano  act 
so  quickly." 

"  Ammony,  is  it?  Waal,  —  guanner  has  a  pooty 
good  smell  tew  ;  my  opinion  is,  that  manure  ought 
to  have  a  pooty  strong  smell,  or  'tain't  good  for 
nuthin'." 

Scientific  gentleman  a  little  on  the  hip  ;  but  re- 
vives under  the  pungency  of  the  manure. 

"  But  if  you  were  to  incorporate  your  long  ma- 
nure with  turf  and  other  material,  you  would  make 
the  turf  good  manure,  and  put  all  in  a  better  state 
for  plant  food." 

"Waal — (considering)  —  I've  made  compo's  afore 
now ;  —  dooz  pooty  well  for  garden  sass  and  sich 
like,  but  it  seems  to  me  kind  o'  like  puttin'  water  to 
half  a  glass  o'  spent ;  it  makes  a  drink  a  plaguey 
sight  stronger'n  water,  no  doubt  o'  that ;  but  after 
all's  said  and  dun,  —  'tain't  so  strong  as  the  rum. 
(Haw,  Buck  ;  why  don't  ye  haw  !  )  " 

Scientific  gentleman  wipes  his  spectacles,  but  fol- 
lows after  the  plough. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  245 

"Do  you  think,  neighbor,  you're  ploughing  this 
sod  as  deeply  as  it  should  be  ?  " 

"  Waal  —  (Gee,  Bright !)  —  it's  as  folks  think  ;  I 
doan't  like  myself  to  turn  up  much  o'  the  yaller ;  it's 
a  kind  o'  cold  sile." 

"Yes,  but  if  you  exposed  it  to  the  air  and  light, 
wouldn't  it  change  character,  and  so  add  to  the 
depth  of  your  land?  " 

"  Doan't  know  but  it  might ;  but  I  ha'n't  much 
opinion  o'  yaller  dirt,  nohow  ;  I  kind  o'  like  to  put 
my  corn  and  potatoes  into  a  good  black  sile,  if  I 
can  get  it." 

"  But  color  is  a  mere  accidental  circumstance,  and 
has  no  relation  to  the  quality  of  the  soil." 

("  Gee,  Bright !  gee !  ") 

"There  are  a  great  many  mineral  elements  of 
food  lying  below,  which  plants  seek  after ;  don't  you 
find  your  clover  roots  running  down  into  the  yellow 
soil?" 

"Waal,  clover's  a  kind  of  a  tap-rooted  thing,  — 
nateral  for  it  to  run  down  ;  but  if  it  runs  down  arter 
the  yaller,  what's  the  use  o'  bringin'  on  it  up  ?  " 

The  scientific  gentleman  sees  his  chance  for  a  dig. 

"  But  if  you  can  make  the  progress  of  the  roots 
easier  by  loosening  the  sub-soil,  or  incorporating  a 
portion  of  it  with  the  upper  soil,  you  increase  the 
facilities  for  growth,  and  enlarge  your  crops." 


246  MY  FARM. 

"  Waal,  that's  kind  o'  rash'nal ;  and  ef  I  could  find 
a  man  that  would  undertake  to  do  a  little  of  the 
stirrin'  of  the  yaller,  without  bringin'  much  on't  up, 
and  bord  himself,  I'd  furnish  half  the  team  and  let 
him  go  ahead." 

"  But  wouldn't  the  increased  product  pay  for  all 
the  additional  labor  ?  " 

"  Doan't  blieve  it  would,  nohow,  between  you  and 
L  You  see,  you  gentlemen  with  your  pockets  full 
o'  money  (scientific  gentleman  coughs  —  slightly), 
talk  about  diggin'  here  and  diggin'  there,  and 
turnin'  up  the  yaller,  and  making  compo's,  but  all 
that  takes  a  thunderin'  sight  o'  work.  (Gee,  Bright ! 
-g'lang,  Buck!)" 

The  scientific  gentleman  wipes  his  spectacles,  and 
tries  a  new  entering  wedge. 

"  How  do  you  feed  your  cattle,  neighbor  ?  " 

"  Waal,  good  English  hay  ;  now  and  then  a  bite 
o'  oats,  'cordin'  as  the  work  is." 

"  But  do  you  make  no  beeves  ?  " 

"Heh?" 

"  Do  you  fatten  no  cattle  ?  " 

"  Yaas,  long  in  the  fall  o'  the  year  I  put  up  four 
or  five  head,  about  the  time  turnips  are  comin'  in." 

"  And  have  you  ever  paid  any  attention  to  their 
food  with  reference  to  its  fat -producing  qualities,  or 
its  albuminoids  ?  " 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  247 

"  (Gee,  Bright !)  —  bumy  —  what  ?  " 

"Albuminoids  —  name  given  to  flesh  producers, 
in  distinction  from  oily  food." 

"  Oh,  —  never  used  'em.  Much  of  a  feed  ? 
(G'lang,  Buck !)  " 

"They  are  constituent  parts  of  a  good  many 
varieties  of  food ;  but  they  go  only  to  make  muscle  ; 
it  isn't  desirable  you  know  to  lay  on  too  much  fatty 
matter." 

"  Heh !  —keep  off  the  fat,  do  they  ?  (Gee,  Bright !) 
Dum  poor  feed,  then,  in  my  opinion." 

By  this  time  the  end  of  the  furrow  is  reached, 
and  the  scientific  gentleman  walks  pensively  toward 
the  fence,  while  Nathan's  dog  that  has  been  sleeping 
under  a  tree,  wakes  up,  sniffs  sharply  at  the  bottom 
of  the  stranger's  trowsers — meditating  such  hy- 
draulic comment  as  pushes  the  man  of  science  into 
active  retreat. 

I  have  written  thus  much,  in  this  vein,  to  show 
the  defensible  position  of  many  of  the  old  style 
farmers,  crusted  over  with  their  prejudices  —  many 
of  them  well  based,  it  must  be  admitted  —  and 
armed  with  an  inextinguishable  shrewdness.  The 
only  way  to  prick  through  the  rind  is  to  show  them 
a  big  crop  grown  at  small  cost,  and  an  orderly  and 
profitable  method,  gradually  out-ranking  their  slat- 
ternly husbandry.  Nor  can  I  omit  to  say  in  this 


248  MY  FARM. 

connection,  that  the  free  interchange  of  questions 
and  answers,  and  unstarched  companionship  of  our 
State  Agricultural  Conventions,  are  among  the  best 
means  of  breaking  down  the  walls  of  demarcation, 
and  establishing  chemical  affinities  between  Science 
and  Practice. 


Lack  of  Precision, 

riTtLE  manufacturer,  in  ordinary  times,  can  tell  us 
-*-  with  a  good  deal  of  certainty  how  much  work 
he  can  turn  out  in  any  given  month,  and  what  his 
profits  will  be.  The  farmer,  whose  crops  are  de- 
pendent in  a  greater  or  less  degree  upon  contingen- 
cies of  wet,  or  dryness,  or  cold,  over  which  he  has 
no  control,  is  less  positive  ;  and  as  a  consequence,  I 
think,  he  grows  into  an  exceedingly  loose  habit  of 
thought  in  all  that  regards  his  business  affairs. 
Notwithstanding  his  punctiliousness  in  moneyed  de- 
tails, and  his  sharpness  at  a  bargain,  he  has  a  more 
vague  idea  of  his  real  whereabouts  in  the  world  of 
profit  and  loss,  than  any  man  of  equal  capital  that 
you  can  find.  If  he  has  a  little  pile  in  stocking-legs 
or  in  Savings  that  grows,  —  it  is  Profit ;  if  he  has  a 
little  debt  at  the  grocer's  or  the  bank  that  grows,  — 
it  is  Loss. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  249 

There  is  not  one  in  fifty  who  can  tell  with  any- 
thing approaching  to  accuracy,  how  much  his  grain 
or  roots  cost  him  the  bushel ;  not  one  in  fifty  who 
can  show  anything  like  a  passable  balance  sheet  of 
a  year's  transactions.  He  may  put  down  all  the 
money  he  receives  in  stumpy  figures,  and  all  the 
money  he  pays  out  in  other  stumpy  figures,  and  set 
his  oldest  boy  to  the  Christmas  reckoning.  But  his 
rent,  his  personal  labor,  the  wear  and  tear,  the 
waste,  the  consumption,  the  unmarketed  growth, 
assume  only  a  hazy  indeterminate  outline,  within 
which  the  sum  of  the  stumpy  figures  is  lost. 
Whether  he  is  raising  corn  at  a  price  larger  than 
the  market  one,  or  selling  potatoes  for  a  third  less 
than  they  cost  him,  is  an  inquiry  he  never  submits 
to  the  fatigue  and  precision  of  accurate  investiga- 
tion. He  thinks  matters  are  about  so  and  so ;  his 
oxen  are  worth  about  so  much  ;  his  oats  will  turn 
about  thirty  bushels  to  the  acre.  Nay,  he  carries 
this  looseness  of  language  into  matters  of  positive 
knowledge  ;  the  straightest  stick  of  timber  in  the 
world  is  only  about  straight,  and  the  tricky  politi- 
cians are  about  as  dishonest  as  they  well  can  be. 

Suppose  we  try  him  upon  his  corn  crop  ;  we  sub- 
mit that  it  looks  a  little  yellow. 

"  Waal  —  yes,  kind  o'  yaller ;  'tain't  fairly  caught 
hold  o'  the  dung  yit"  (pegging  away  with  his  hoe). 


250  MY  FARM. 

"  Do  you  think  there's  any  profit  in  growing  corn, 
hereabout  ?  " 

"  Waal  —  don't  know  as  there  is  much  ;  kind  o' 
like  to  make  a  little  pork,  and  have  a  little  about  for 
the  hena" 

"  But  why  not  buy  your  corn  and  raise  something 
else,  provided  you  can  buy  it,  as  you  often  can,  for 
sixty  or  seventy  cents  the  bushel  ?  " 

"Waal  —  kind  o'  like  to  have  a  little  'heater' 
piece ;  the  boys,  you  see,  hoe  it  out  in  odd  spells  ; 
don't  pay  out  much  for  help." 

"  But  the  boys  could  earn  their  seventy-five  cents 
a  day,  couldn't  they  ?  " 

"Waal — s'pose  they  might — about;  but  kind  o' 
like  to  have  'em  about  home." 

"  Have  you  ever  tried  carrots  ?  " 

"  Waal  —  no  ;  kind  o'  back-achin'  work  to  weed 
carrits." 

And  not  only  does  this  apathetic  indifference  to 
the  relative  profits  of  different  crops  prevail,  but 
there  is  no  proper  business  estimate  of  home  labor. 

We  often  see  it  affirmed,  admiringly,  that  such  or 
such  a  farmer  has  built  an  enormous  quantity  of 
wall  —  so  many  feet  high  and  broad  —  or  dug  out 
so  many  rocks,  and  mostly  with  his  own  hands,  or 
in  spare  time  with  his  own  "  help ; "  in  short,  it  is 
intimated  that  all  is  done  at  little  expense.  Now 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  251 

this  is  very  absurd ;  great  work  involves  great  .abor ; 
and  great  labor  has  its  price.  You  may  do  it  in  the 
night,  and  caU  it  no  labor  ;  you  may  do  it  yourself, 
and  call  it  no  expense  ;  but  there  is,  nevertheless,  a 
great  deal  of  positive  expenditure  of  both  muscle 
and  time  which,  if  not  given  to  this  work,  might 
have  been  given  to  another.  It  may  count  much 
for  your  industry,  but  not  one  whit  for  your  farm- 
ing, until  we  learn  if  the  labor  has  been  judiciously 
expended  —  has  paid,  in  short.  And  to  determine 
this,  we  must  estimate  the  labor  at  its  market  value 
• —  whether  done  in  the  night,  or  on  holidays. 

If  I  see  a  house  painted  all  over  in  diamonds  of 
every  hue,  and  express  distaste  for  the  wanton  waste 
of  labor,  it  is  no  answer  to  me  to  say  —  that  the 
man  did  it  in  odd  hours.  What  will  not  pay  for 
doing  in  even  hours,  will  never  pay  for  doing  in  odd 
hours.  It  is  no  excuse  for  waste  of  time  and  mus- 
cle, to  waste  them  in  the  dark.  Every  spade  or 
hammer-stroke  upon  the  farm  —  no  matter  whether 
done  by  the  master  or  the  master's  son,  or  master's 
wife  —  no  matter  whether  done  after  hours  or  be- 
fore hours  —  must  be  estimated  at  the  sum  such 
labor  would  command  in  the  market. 

The  fallacy  is  only  another  indication  of  that 
Woful  lack  of  precision  of  which  I  have  been  speak- 
ing, and  which,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  infects  more  or 


252  MY  FARM. 

less  the  current  agricultural  literature.  A  well- 
meaning  man  gives  some  account  of  an  experiment 
that  he  has  undertaken,  and  is  so  loose  in  statement 
of  details,  so  inexplicit,  so  neglectful  to  make  known 
previous  conditions  of  soil,  or  conditions  of  cost, 
that  he  might  as  well  have  burst  a  few  soap-bubbles 
in  the  face  of  the  public. 

Even  in  reports  of  State  societies,  the  estimate  of 
labor  and  other  expenses  on  premium-crops  is  so 
various,  so  conflicting,  often  so  patently  and  egre- 
giously  wrong,  that  it  is  quite  impossible  to  arrive 
even  at  a  safe  average.  I  find  among  these  reports, 
the  calculation  of  some  short-figured  farmer,  who 
has  competed  for  a  premium  upon  his  carrots,  and 
who  has  the  effrontery  to  put  down  the  cost  of  cul- 
tivating and  harvesting  an  acre  —  at  twenty  dollars  ! 
Yet  he  won  his  premium,  and  the  estimate  stands 
recorded.  The  committee  who  audited  and  accepted 
such  a  report  —  if  donkeys  were  on  exhibition — 
should  have  been  put  around  the  track. 


Knotting  too  Much, 

T  SOMETIMES  see  in  the  papers,  advertisements 

of  gardeners,  who  can  be  seen  at  Thorburn's  in 

John  Street,  on  stated  mornings,  when  they  hold 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  253 

their  levee,  who  insist  upon  "  entire  control."  A 
modest  man,  going  among  them,  and  entreating  the 
services  of  one  at  forty  dollars  a  month,  and  "  boord," 
feels  very  much  as  if  he  were  hiring  himself  to  him 
in  some  subordinate  capacity, — with  the  privilege  of 
occasionally  sniffing  the  perfume  through  the  open 
doors  of  the  green-house.  There  may  be  those 
country-lovers  who  enjoy  this  state  of  dependence 
upon  the  superior  authority  of  a  gardener ;  but  I  do 
not  care  to  be  counted  among  them.  I  have  too 

large  an  acquaintance  among  the  sufferers.     M , 

an  amiable  gentleman,  and  a  friend  of  mine,  and  an 
extreme  lover  of  flowers,  dared  no  more  to  pick  a 
rose  without  permission  of  "Wallace,"  than  he  dares 
to  be  caught  reading  an  unpopular  journal.  "  Wal- 
lace "  is  instructed  ;  but  in  the  assertion  of  his  au- 
thority, —  impudent.  And  when  at  last  my  friend 
summoned  resolution  to  dismiss  him,  there  came  a 
dray  to  the  back-entrance,  which  was  presently 
loaded  down  with  the  private  cuttings  and  perqui- 
sites of  the  accomplished  gardener. 

When  a  gardener  knows  so  much  as  to  refuse  any 
suggestions,  and  to  disallow  any  right  on  the  part 
of  the  proprietor  to  stamp  his  place  with  his  own 
individuality  of  taste,  —  he  knows  altogether  too 
much.  This  is  the  Scotch  phase  of  knowing  too 
much ;  but  there  is  an  American  one  that  is  even 


254  MY  FARM. 

worse,  and  which  puts  a  raw  edge  upon  country  so- 
cialitiea 

I  find  no  man  BO  disagreeable  to  meet  with,  as 
one  who  knows  everything.  Of  course  we  expect  it 
in  newspaper  editors,  and  allow  for  it  But,  to  meet 
a  man  engaged  in  innocent  occupations  —  over  your 
fence,  who  is  armed  cap-a-pie  against  all  new  ideas, 
—  who  "  knew  it  afore,"  or  "  has  heerd  so,"  or  doubts 
it,  or  replies  to  your  most  truthful  sally  "  'tain't  so, 
nuther,"  is  aggravating  in  the  extreme. 

There  is  many  a  small  farmer,  scattered  up  and 
down  in  New  England,  whose  chief  difficulty  is  — 
that  he  knows  too  much.  I  do  not  think  a  single 
charge  against  him  could  cover  more  ground,  or 
cover  it  better.  It  is  hard  to  make  intelligible  to  a 
third  party,  his  apparent  inaccessibility  to  new  ideas, 
his  satisfied  quietude,  his  invincible  inertium,  his 
stolid,  and  yet  shrewd  capacity  to  resist  novelties, 
his  self-assurance,  his  scrutinising  contempt  for  out- 
sidedness  of  whatever  sort  —  his  supreme  and  in- 
eradicable faith  in  his  own  peculiar  doctrine, 
whether  of  politics,  religion,  ethnology,  ham-curing, 
manuring,  or  farming  generally. 

It  is  not  alone  that  me"n  of  this  class  cling  by  a 
particular  method  of  culture,  because  their  neigh- 
borhood has  followed  the  same  for  years,  and  the 
results  are  fair ;  but  it  is  their  pure  contempt  for 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  255 

being  taught;  their  undervaluation  of  what  they 
do  not  know,  as  not  worth  knowing ;  their  convic- 
tion that  their  schooling,  their  faith,  their  principles, 
and  their  understanding  are  among  God's  best 
works ;  and  that  other  peoples'  schooling,  faith, 
principles,  and  views  of  truth  —  whether  human  or 
Divine — are  inferior  and  unimportant. 

Yet  withal,  there  is  a  shrewdness  about  them 
which  forces  upon  you  the  conviction  that  they  do 
not  so  much  dislike  to  be  taught,  as  dislike  to  seem 
to  be  taught.  They  like  to  impress  you  with  the 
notion  that  what  you  may  tell  them  is  only  a  new 
statement  of  what  they  know  already.  It  is  incon- 
ceivable that  anything  really  worth  knowing  has  not 
come  within  the  range  of  their  opportunities  ;  or  if 
not  theirs,  then  of  their  accredited  teachers,  the 
town  school-master,  the  parson,  the  doctor,  or  the 
newspaper.  In  short,  all  that  they  do  not  know 
which  may  be  worth  knowing,  is  known  in  their 
town,  and  they  are  in  some  sort  partners  to  it. 

Talk  to  a  small  farmer  of  this  class  about  Mechi, 
or  Lawes,  or  the  new  theory  of  Liebig,  and  he  gives 
a  complacent,  inexorable  grin — as  much  as  to  say — 
"Can't  come  that  stuff  over  me  ;  I'm  too  old  a 
bird." 

So  indeed  he  is  ;  and  a  tough  bird  at  that.  His 
mind  is  a  rare  psychological  study  ;  so  balanced  on 


256  MY  FARM. 

so  fine  a  point,  so  immovable,  —  with  such  guys  of 
prejudice  staying  him  on  every  side,  —  so  subtle  and 
yet  so  narrow,  —  so  shrewd  and  yet  so  small,  —  so 
intelligent  and  yet  so  short-sighted.  If  such  men 
could  bring  themselves  to  think  they  knew  less,  I 
think  they  would  farm  far  better. 


Opportunity  for  Culture. 

F INHERE  is  a  plentiful  crop  of  orators  for  all  the 
"•"  agricultural  fairs  (most  of  them  city  lawyers, 
not  knowing  a  Devon  from  a  Hereford),  who  delight 
in  expatiating  upon  the  opportunities  for  culture 
afforded  by  the  quiet  and  serenity  of  a  farm-life. 
Now  there  is  no  life  in  the  world,  which,  well  hus- 
banded, has  not  its  opportunities  for  culture  ;  but 
to  say  that  the  working  farmer's  life  is  specially 
favored  in  this  respect,  is  the  grossest  kind  of  an 
untruth. 

—  Long  evenings,  forsooth !  And  the  orator 
who  talks  in  this  style  is  probably  crawling  out  of 
his  bed  at  eight  in  the  morning,  while  the  farmer  is 
a-field  since  four.  And  are  not  these  four  hours  to 
be  made  good  to  him  in  sleep  or  rest  ?  The  man 
who  rises  at  four,  and  works  all  day,  as  farmers 
work,  or  Avho  is  even  a-tield  all  day,  is  sleepy  at  nine 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS,  257 

P.M.  It  is  not,  perhaps,  a  graceful  truth ;  but  it  is 
a  physiological  one.  Nothing  provokes  appetite  for 
sleep  so  much  as  out-of-door  life.  You  may  over- 
strain the  nervous  system,  and  dodge  the  night ;  but 
a  strain  upon  the  muscular  system  must  have  its 
balance  of  repose.  There  are,  indeed,  exceptional 
cases,  where  a  working  man  with  an  undue  prepon- 
derance of  brain,  will  steal  hours  between  his  labor 
for  intellectual  cultivation  ;  but  he  does  it  under 
difficulties,  which  he  is  the  first  to  recognize  and  de- 
plore. Even  the  most  skilled  of  working  farmers 
arrive  at  their  conclusions  by  an  intuitive  sagacity, 
which  is  wholly  remote  from  the  logical  processes 
of  books  ;  and  their  straightforward  common-sense, 
however  correct  in  its  judgments,  grows  into  a  dis- 
taste for  the  subtle  arts  of  rhetoric. 

During  the  more  leisure  period  of  winter,  the 
practical  mind  of  the  farmer  will  gravitate  more 
easily  toward  mechanical  employments,  than  toward 
those  which  are  intellectual.  He  will  have  his  agri- 
cultural journal  and  others,  may  be,  to  whose  read- 
ing he  will  bring  a  ripe  and  hardy  judgment.  But 
his  thoughts  will  be  more  among  his  cattle  and  his 
bins,  than  among  books.  "  He  cannot  get  wisdom 
that  glorieth  in  the  goad,  and  that  driveth  oxen." 
There  may  be  a  spice  of  exaggeration  in  the  dogma 
of  Ecclesiasticus  ;  but  whoever  undertakes  the  occu- 


258  MY  FARM. 

pation  of  working  farmer,  must  accept  its  fatigues 
and  engrossments,  and  honor  them  as  he  can.  It 
is  a  business  that  will  not  be  halved.  Vulcan  can 
make  no  Ganymede  —  strain  as  he  will  The  horny 
hands,  the  tired  body,  the  hay-dust  and  the  scent  of 
the  stables  are  inevitable.  The  fine  young  fellow, 
flush  with  Johnston's  Elements,  and  buoyant  with 
Thomson's  Seasons,  may  rebel  at  this  view  of  the 
case ;  but  let  him  take  three  hours  in  a  hay-field 
of  August  —  behind  a  revolver  (rake),  with  the  reins 
over  his  neck,  the  land  being  lumpy,  and  the  colt 
dipping  a  foot  over  the  traces  at  the  end  of  every 
bout,  and  I  think  he  will  have  a  sweaty  confirmation 
of  its  general  truth.  Or  let  hirn  try  a  day  at  the 
tail  of  a  Michigan  plough,  in  a  wiry  and  dusty  last- 
year's  stubble :  —  the  horses  are  fresh  and  well 
trained,  and  the  plough  enters  bravely  to  its  work  — 
smoothly  at  first,  but  presently  an  ugly  stone  flings 
it  cleanly  from  the  furrow,  and  there  is  a  backing,  — 
a  heavy  tug,  and  on  he  goes  with  his  mind  all  cen- 
tred in  the  plough-beam,  and  nervously  watching 
its  little  pitches  and  yaws  ;  he  lifts  a  hand  cautiously 
to  wipe  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead  (a  great 
imprudence),  and  the  plough  sheers  over  gracefully, 
and  is  out  once  more.  There  is  a  new  backing 
and  straining,  and  the  plough  is  again  in  place  ;•  no 
more  wiping  of  the  forehead  until  the  headlands  are 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  259 

reached.  Watery  blisters  are  rising  fast  on  his 
hands,  and  a  pebble  in  his  shoe  is  pressing  fearfully 
on  a  bunion ;  but  at  the  headland  he  finds  temporary 
relief,  and  a  small  can  of  weak  barley-water.  Re- 
freshed by  this,  but  somewhat  shaky  in  the  legs,  he 
pushes  on  with  zeal  —  possibly  thinking  of  Burns, 
and  how  he*  walked  in  glory  and  in  joy, 

"  Behind  his  plough 
Upon  the  mountain  side," 

—  and  wondering  if  he  really  did  ?  There  are  no 
"  wee-tipped  "  daisies  to  beguile  him  ;  not  a  mouse 
is  stirring ;  only  a  pestilent  mosquito  is  twanging 
somewhere  behind  his  left  ear,  and  a  fine  aromatic 
powder  rises  from  the  dusty  stubble  and  tickles  his 
nostrils.  So  he  comes  to  the  headland  once  more 
and  the  can  ;  if  he  had  a  copy  of  Burns  in  his 
pocket,  it  might  be  pleasant  for  the  fine  young  fel- 
low to  lie  off  under  the  shade  for  a  while,  and  "  im- 
prove his  mind."  But  he  has  no  Burns  —  in  fact,  no 
pocket  in  his  overalls  ;  besides  which,  the  season  is 
getting  late ;  he  must  finish  his  acre  of  ploughing. 
Over  and  over  he  eyes  the  sun  —  it  is  very  slow  of 
getting  to  its  height,  and  when  noon  comes  it  finds 
him  in  a  very  draggled  and  wilty  state ;  but  he 
mounts  one  of  the  horses,  and  the  mate  clattering 
after,  he  leads  off  to  the  barn  and  the  baiting.  He 


2<3o  MY  FARM. 

has  a  sharp  appetite  for  the  beef  and  the  greens,  but 
not  much,  at  the  nooning,  for  Burns  or  Bishop  But- 
ler. The  return  to  the  field  haunts  him ;  but  the 
work  is  only  half  done.  Rubbing  his  puffy  hands 
with  a  raw  onion  (by  the  advice  of  Pat),  he  enters 
bravely  upon  a  new  bout  of  the  ploughing.  The 
sun  is  even  more  searching  than  in  the  morning ; 
the  mosquitoes  have  come  in  flocks  ;  the  bunion,  ag- 
gravated by  the  morning's  pebble,  angers  him  sorely, 
and  destroys  all  his  confidence  in  the  commentators 
upon  Burns. 

At  night,  more  draggled  and  wilted  than  at  noon, 
he  turns  out  his  team,  and  if  he  means  systematic 
farm-work,  will  give  the  horses  a  thorough  rubbing- 
down  ;  afterward,  if  he  cherish  cleanly  prejudices, 
—  the  fine  young  fellow  will  have  need  for  a  rub- 
bing-down of  himself.  This  refreshes,  and  gives 
courage  for  the  milking  —  which,  with  those  puffy 
fingers,  is  no  way  amusing.  Again  the  appetite  is 
good  —  even  for  a  cut  of  salt-beef,  and  dish  of  cold 
greens.  Thereupon  Pat,  the  Irish  lad,  sits  upon  the 
doorstep  and  ruminates,  —  with  a  short,  black  pipe 
in  his  mouth.  Our  draggled  young  friend  aims  at 
something  better ;  it  is  wearily  done  ;  but  at  least 
the  show  shall  be  made.  The  candle  is  lighted,  and 
a  book  pulled  down  —  possibly  Prof.  Johnson  on 
Peats ;  the  millers  dart  into  the  flame ;  peats,  and 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  261 

hydrates,  and  oxides,  and  peats  again,  mix  strangely ; 
a  horned  beetle  dashes  at  his  forehead,  and  makes 
him  wakeful  for  a  moment ;  there  is  a  frog  droning 
in  the  near  pond  very  drowsily  —  "peats  —  peats  — 
peats ; "  the  drift  of  the  professor  is  lost ;  Pat  ru- 
minates on  the  step  ;  a  big  miller  flaps  out  the  flame 
of  his  candle  ;  —  it  is  no  matter  —  our  fine  young 
fellow  is  in  a  sound  snooze. 

So  much  for  the  working  farmer  ;  and  we  cannot 
have  armies  without  privates ;  and  privates  are 
many  of  them  "fine  young  fellows." 


Isolation  of  Farmers. 

T  AM  reminded  that  a  farmer  has  no  need  to  fag 
-*-  himself  with  hard  field  work.  To  a  certain  ex- 
tent this  is  true  ;  but  only  "  A  master's  eye  fattens 
the  horse,  and  only  a  master's  foot  the  ground." 

If  farming  be  undertaken  as  an  amusement,  ab- 
sence is  possible ;  indeed,  the  longer  the  absence, 
the  greater  the  amusement  —  to  the  onlookers  ;  but 
if  farming  be  undertaken  as  a  business,  presence  is 
imperative  —  presence,  with  its  associations,  and  its 
comparative  isolation. 

Of  the  more  familiar  associations,  a  type  may  be 
had  in  Pat,  sitting  on  the  doorstep  at  dusk,  ruminat- 


262  MY  FARM. 

ing  and  smoking  a  black-stemmed  pipe.  The  isola- 
tion is  less  obvious,  but  more  galling.  Farms  do 
not  lie  extensively  in  cities  ;  and  the  least  fear  we 
live  under,  —  is  one  of  mobs.  In  fact,  there  is  not 
even  a  habit  of  congregation  in  fanners.  They  meet 
behind  the  church,  between  services,  —  in  a  starched 
way  ;  they  drive  to  town-meetings  in  their  best  tog- 
gery, and  discuss  ballotings  and  the  weather  —  pos- 
sibly linger  an  hour  or  two  about  the  tavern  or  a  pet 
grocer's  ;  but  they  do  not  meet  as  townspeople  meet 
—  on  the  walk,  over  counters,  on  the  railway,  in  the 
omnibus,  and  in  each  other's  houses.  I  have  al- 
ready taken  occasion  to  dust  out  their  darkened 
parlors ;  but  the  dust  will  gather  again.  They  have 
no  Market-Fairs*  which  will  bring  them  together 
with  samples  of  their  crops,  to  compare  notes,  and 
prices,  and  methods  of  culture. 

There  is  no  coherence  of  the  farmers  as  a  body  — 
no  trade-guild  —  no  banding  of  endeavor  to  work  a 
common  triumph,  or  to  ferret  out  a  common  abuse. 
For  years,  in  many  parts  of  New  England,  the  sheep 

*  A  strong  effort,  I  am  glad  to  see,  is  making  to  establish 
them  in  various  parts  of  the  country.  In  my  own  neighbor- 
hood the  old  town  of  Cheshire  has  made  a  bold  stride  in  this 
direction,  and  I  trust  not  in  vain.  They  are  worth  more  to 
the  true  interests  of  farming  than  all  the  horse-trotting  fairs 
which  could  be  packed  into  a  season. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  263 

culture  has  been  entirely  ruined  by  the  ravages  of 
lawless  town-dogs ;  and  the  farmers  groan  over  it, 
and  bury  the  dead  sheep,  and  whisper  valorously 
between  church  services  about  bludgeons  and  buck- 
shot, but  never  make  a  concerted  urgent  protest ;  or 
if  they  rally  so  far  as  to  send  one  of  their  own  peo- 
ple to  the  Legislature,  —  he,  poor  fellow,  does  not 
pass  ten  days  under  the  fingers  of  the  lobbyists,  but 
he  sinks  into  the  veriest  dribblet  of  a  politician  ;  and 
gives  the  last  proof  of  it,  by  making  a  pompous 
speech  on  "Federal  Eelations," — not  worth  the  car- 
cass of  a  ewe  lamb. 

Under  these  conditions,  any  new  and  valuable 
methods  of  farm-practice  do  not  spread  with  any 
rapidity ;  they  hobble  lamely  over  innumerable 
flanking  walls.  It  is  possible  they  may  get  an  airing 
in  the  agricultural  journals  ;  but  good  and  service- 
able as  these  journals  are,  their  statements  do  not 
influence,  like  personal  communications.  Reforms 
want  the  ring  of  spoken  words,  and  some  electric 
social  chain  traversing  a  whole  district,  and  flashing 
with  neighborly  talk. 

The  man  of  education,  giving  himself  over  to  the 
retirement  of  a  farm  life,  will  find  this  isolation, 
sooner  or  later,  grating  sorely.  Whatever  love  of 
the  pursuit  —  its  cares,  indulgences,  attractions, 
successes  —  may  engross  him,  a  certain  attrition 


264  MY  FARM. 

with  the  world  is  as  necessary  to  his  mental  health, 
and  briskness  of  thought  —  as  a  rubbing-post  for  his 
pigs.  He  may  let  himself  off  in  newspapers,  or  he 
may  thumb  his  library  and  the  journals,  but  these 
offer  but  dead  contact,  and  possess  none  of  that 
kindling  magnetism  which  comes  from  personal  in- 
tercourse. Type  grows  wearisome  at  last,  however 
stocked  with  information  and  gorgeous  fancies  ;  and 
a  man  frets  for  the  lively  rebound  of  discussion. 

Friends  from  the  city  may  drop  upon  you  from 
time  to  time,  exercising  this  compassion  for  your  re- 
tirement ;  and  they  treat  you  compassionately.  Of 
course  the  novelty  of  the  scene  and  the  life  has 
charms  for  any  metropolitan,  whatever  his  tastes  ; 
and  he  bears  himself  very  briskly  at  first.  The  view 
is  charming ;  the  well-water  is  charming  ;  the  big 
oaks  (they  are  all  maples)  are  charming.  And  his 
eye  falls  upon  a  riotous  hedge  of  Osage-orange, 
"  Dear  me,  that's  the  hawthorn ;  how  beautiful  it 
is!" 

Of  course  you  do  not  correct  him  ;  in  fact,  you 
partake  of  his  exhilaration,  and  seem  to  see  things 
with  new  eyes. 

"  And,  bless  me,  here's  your  boy  (it's  a  girl) ;  how 
old  is  he  ?  "  (patting  her  head.) 

What  a  fine  flow  of  spirits  he  is  in,  to  be  sure ! 
You  show  him  up  and  down  your  grounds  (always 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  265 

"your  grounds,"  lie  calls  them,  if  it  be  only  a  potato 
garden). 

Presently  bis  eye  lights  upon  a  blooming  Weigelia. 
"  Ah,  a  dwarf  apple  !  and  do  you  go  largely  into 
fruit  ?  "  upon  which  you  offer  him  a  Red-Astrachan, 
and  remark  that  the  Weigelia  has  not  borne  thus 
far ;  it  is  a  Chinese  shrub,  and  little  understood  as 
yet 

"Is  it  possible  —  Chinese!  so  far;  —  it  seems  to 
thrive."  And  it  does. 

And  you  stroll  with  him  upon  the  hill ;  though 
you  cannot  but  see  that  his  mind  is  warping  back  to 
"laryngeal  affections,"  or  "  half-of-one-per-cent.  off." 

A  lucky  interruption  appears,  in  the  shape  of  a 
fine  Devon  cow.  You  venture  to  call  his  attention 
to  her,  and  ask  if  she  is  not  a  fine  animal? 

"  Admirable  ! "  and  with  a  kind  interest,  he  asks 
—  if  she  isn't  a  Short-horn  ? 

"Not  a  Short-horn,"  you  reply;  and  in  way  of 
apology  for  his  error,  remark  that  she  has  broken 
off  one  of  her  horns  in  the  fence. 

At  which  he  says,  —  "Ah,  I  see  now;  —  but  re- 
sembles the  Short-horns,  doesn't  she  ?  " 

"Yes  —  "you  return,  mildly — "a  little;  her 
legs  are  like ;  and  I  think  she  carries  her  tail  —  a 
good  deal  in  the  Short-horn  way." 

At  which  he  is  himself  again,  and  is  prepared  for 


266  MY  FARM. 

ft  new  farm  venture.  It  comes  presently,  as  a  fine 
brood  of  Bremen  geese  waddle  into  sight. 

"  Muscovies  ?  " 

"No,  not  ducks  —  geese — Bremen  geese,  but  re- 
semble the  Muscovies ; "  (as  unlike  as  they  are  to 
sea-fowl ;  but  shall  not  a  host  keep  his  guest  in  good 
humor  ?) 

"I  shouldn't  have  known  'em  from  Muscovies," 
he  says.  And  I  really  don't  suppose  that  he  would. 

A  good-natured  city  guest,  who  comes  to  see  you 
in  your  retirement,  is  very  apt  to  talk  in  this  strain 
upon  farming  matters.  It  is  engaging,  but  not  im- 
proving. 

You  stroll,  by  and  by,  into  the  library,  and  leave 
him  for  a  few  moments  lounging  in  the  arm-chair, 
while  you  slip  out  to  give  some  orders  to  the  ditch- 
ers in  the  meadow. 

Upon  your  return,  entering  somewhat  brusquely 
(expecting  to  find  him  deep  in  some  book),  you 
waken  him  out  of  a  sound  sleep. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  he  says,  "  this  is  a  beautiful 
air  ;  if  I  lived  here  I  should  sleep  half  my  time." 

The  reflection  is  a  somewhat  dismal  one,  —  though 
well  meant 

All  this,  however,  illustrates  what  I  want  to  say 
—  that  the  citizen  engrossed  in  active  professional 
or  business  pursuits,  when  he  visits  a  farm  friend, 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  267 

goes  with  the  very  sensible  purpose  and  hope  —  of 
escaping  for  a  while  the  interminable  mental  strain 
of  the  city,  and  of  giving  himself  up  to  full  relaxa- 
tion. And  this  fact  makes  the  isolation  of  which  I 
have  spoken,  more  apparent  than  ever. 

And  it  is  an  isolation  that  cannot  altogether  be 
left  behind  one.  On  your  visits  to  the  city,  friends 
will  remark  your  seediness,  not  unkindly,  but  with 
an  oblique  eye-cast  up  and  down  your  figure  —  as  a 
jockey  measures  a  stiff-limbed  horse,  long  out  to 
pasture.  You  may  wear  what  toggery  you  will  — 
keeping  by  the  old  tailors,  and  showing  yourself 
bien  gante,  and  carefully  read  up  to  the  latest  dates  ; 
still  you  shall  betray  yourself  Jn  some  old  dinner- 
joke —  dead  long  ago.  And  the  friends  will  say 
kindly,  after  you  are  gone,  "How  confoundedly 
seedy  Rus.  has  grown  !  " 

Were  this  all,  it  were  little.  But  the  clash  and 
alarum  of  cities  have  stirred  things  to  their  marrow, 
which  you  know  only  outsidedly.  The  great  ner- 
vous sensorium  of  a  continent,  —  with  its  wiry 
nerves  raying  like  a  spider's  web,  in  ah1  directions, 
—  is  packed  with  subtle  and  various  meanings, 
which  you,  living  on  an  outer  strand  of  the  web,  can 
neither  understand  nor  interpret.  Mere  accidental 
contact  will  not  establish  affinity.  In  a  dozen  quar- 
ters a  boy  puts  you  right ;  and  some  girl  tells  you 


268  MY  FARM. 

newnesses  you  never  suspected.  The  rust  is  on 
your  sword ;  thwack  as  hard  as  you  may,  you  can- 
not flesh  it,  as  when  it  had  every  day  scouring  into 
brightness. 

Dickering. 

Ql  OMETIME  or  other,  if  a  man  enter  upon  farm 
***  life  —  and  it  holds  true  in  almost  every  kind 
of  life  —  there  will  come  to  him  a  necessity  for  bar- 
gaining. It  is  a  part  of  the  curse,  I  think,  entailed 
upon  mankind,  at  the  expulsion  from  Eden,  —  that 
they  should  sweat  at  a  bargain .  When  a  French- 
woman with  her  hand  full  of  gloves,  —  behind  her 
dainty  counter,  —  asks  the  double  of  what  her  goods 
are  worth,  you  are  no  way  surprised.  You  accept 
the  enormity,  as  a  symptom  of  the  depravity  of  her 
race,  —  which  is  balanced  by  the  suavity  of  her  man- 
ner. 

But  when  a  hard-faced,  upright,  Sabbath-keeping 
New-England  bank-officer  or  select-man,  asks  you 
the  double,  or  offers  you  the  half,  of  what  a  thing  is 
really  worth,  there  is  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  which 
no  charm  in  his  manner  can  drive  away.  Unlike 
the  case  of  the  French  shop- woman,  I  feel  like  pass- 
ing him  —  on  the  other  side  of  the  street. 

And  yet  all  this  is  to  be  met  (and  conquered,  I 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  269 

suppose)  by  whoever  has  butter,  or  eggs,  or  hay,  or 
fat  cattle  to  sell.  I  ventured  once  to  express  my 
surprise  to  a  shrewd  foreman  who  had  charge  of 
this  business  —  for  I  manage  it  by  proxy  as  much  as 
I  can  —  that  a  staid  gentleman  with  his  ten  thou- 
sand a  year  income,  should  have  insisted  upon  a 
deduction  of  two  cents  a  bushel  in  the  price  of  his 
potatoes,  in  view  of  a  quart  of  small  ones,  that  had 
insinuated  themselves  in  the  interstices :  I  think  I 
hear  his  horse-laugh  now,  as  he  replied  —  "  Why, 
sir,  it's  the  way  he  grew  rich." 

The  idea  struck  me  as  novel ;  but  upon  reflection 
I  am  inclined  to  think  it  was  well  based.  As  I  said, 
—  often  as  possible,  I  accomplish  this  business  by 
proxy ;  and,  in  consequence,  have  made  some  bad 
debts  by  proxy.  But  proxy  is  not  always  availa- 
ble. There  are  customers  who  insist  upon  chaffer- 
ing with  the  "  boss."  Such  an  one  has  dropped  in, 

£ 

on  a  morning  in  which  you  happen  to  be  deeply 
engaged.  He  wishes  to  "  take  a  look "  at  a  horse, 

which  he  has  seen  advertised  for  sale.     The  stable 

• 
is  free  to  his  observation,  and  the  attentive  Pat  is 

at  hand  ;  but  the  customer  wants  a  talk  with  the 
"  Squire." 

It  is  a  staunch  Canadian  horse,  for  which  you 
have  no  further  use.  You  paid  for  him,  six  months 
gone,  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and  you  now  name 


270  MY  FARM. 

a  hundred  dollars  as  his  price.  I  never  yet  met  a 
man  who  sold  a  horse  for  as  much  as  he  gave  — 
unless  he  were  a  jockey ;  I  never  expect  to. 

"Mornin',  Squire." 

"  Good  morning." 

"  Bin  a  lookin'  at  y'r  hoss." 

"Ah!" 

"  Middlin'  lump  of  a  hoss." 

"Yes,  a  nice  horse." 

"  D'nTcnow  as  you  know  it,  but  sich  hosses  ain't 
so  salable  as  they  was  a  spell  back." 

"  Ah ! " 

"  They're  gittin'  a  fancy  for  bigger  hosses." 

Silence. 

"  Put  that  pony  to  a  heavy  cart,  and  he  wouldn't 
do  nothin'." 

"  You  are  mistaken  ;  he's  a  capital  cart-horse." 

"Well,  I  don't  say  but  what  he'd  be  handy 
with  a  lightislr  load.  Don't  call  him  spavined,  do 
ye?" 

"  No,  perfectly  sound." 

"  That  looks  kind  o'  like  a  spavin  "  —  rubbing  his 
off  hind  leg. 

"  An't  much  of  a  hoss  doctor,  be  ye  ?" 

"  Not  much." 

"  Don't  kick,  dooz  he  ?  " 

"No." 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  271 

"  Them  little  Kanucks  is  apt  to  kick." 

Silence,  and  an  impatient  movement,  which  I 
work  off  by  pulling  out  my  watch. 

"  What  time  o'  day  's  got  to  be  ?  " 

"  Eleven." 

"Thunder!  I  must  be  a  goin' ; — should  like  to 
trade,  Squire,  but  I  guess  we  can't  agree.  I  s'pose 
you'd  be  askin'  as  much  as  —  sixty  —  or  —  seventy 
dollars  for  that  air  hoss  —  wouldn't  ye  ?  " 

"  A  hundred  dollars  is  the  price,  and  I  gave  fifty 
more." 

"  Don't  say  !  Gave  a  thunderin'  sight  too  much, 
Squire." 

"  Pat,  you  may  put  up  the  horse ;  I  don't  think 
the  gentleman  wants  him." 

"Look  a-here,  Squire;  —  ef  you  was  to  say  — 
something  —  like  —  seventy,  or  —  seventy-five  dol- 
lars, now,  —  there  might  be  some  use  in  talkin'." 

"Not  one  bit  of  use,"  (impatiently)  —  turning  on 
my  heeL 

" Say,  Squire,  —  ever  had  him  to  a  plough  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Work  well?" 

"Perfectly  well." 

"  Fractious  any  ?  Them  Kanucks  is  contrary  crit- 
ters when  they've  a  mind  to  be." 

"He  is  quite  gentle." 


272  My  FARM. 

"  That's  a  good  p'int ;  but  them  that's  worked  till 
they  git  quiet,  kind  o'  gits  the  spirit  lost  out  on  'em 
—  ain't  so  brisk  when  you  put  'em  to  a  waggin. 
Don't  you  find  it  so,  Squire  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all" 

"  How  old,  Squire,  did  ye  say  he  was  ?  "  (looking 
in  his  mouth  again.) 

"  Seven." 

"  Well  —  I  guess  he  is ;  a  good  many  figgers 
nigher  that,  than  he  is  to  tew  —  any  way." 

"Patrick,  you  had  better  put  this  horse  up." 

"  Hold  on,  Squire,"  and  taking  out  his  purse,  he 
counts  out  —  "  seventy  —  eighty,  —  and  a  five,  — 
and  two,  —  and  a  fifty  —  there,  Squire,  'tain't  worth 
talkin'  about ;  111  split  the  difference  with  ye,  and 
take  the  hoss." 

"  Patrick,  put  him  up." 

At  which  the  customer  is  puzzled,  hesitates,  and 
the  horse  is  entering  the  stable  again,  when  he 
breaks  out  explosively  — 

" Well,  Squire,  here's  your  money;  but 

you're  the  most  thunderin'  oneasy  man  for  a  dicker 
that  I  ever  traded  with  —  111  say  that  for  ye." 

And  the  horse  is  transferred  to  his  keeping. 

"  S'pose  you  throw  in  the  halter  and  blanket, 
Squire,  don't  ye  ?  " 

"  Give  him  the  halter  and  blanket,  Patrick." 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  273 

"  And,  Patrick,  you  ain't  nary  old  curry-comb  you 
don't  use,  you  could  let  me  have  ?  " 

"  Give  him  a  curry-comb,  Pat." 

"  Squire,  you're  a  clever  man.  Got  most  through 
y>r  hayin'  ?  " 

"  Nearly." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  on'i  Had  kind  o'  ketchin' 
weather  up  our  way." 

And  with  this  return  to  general  and  polite  con- 
versation, the  bargaining  is  over.  It  may  be  amus- 
ing, but  it  is  not  inspiriting  or  elevating.  Yet  very 
much  of  the  country  trade  is  full  of  this  miserable 
chaffering.  If  I  have  a  few  acres  of  woodland  to 
sell,  the  purchaser  spends  an  hour  in  impressing 
upon  me  his  "idee"  —  that  it  is  scattered  and 
mangy,  and  has  been  pirated  upon,  and  that  wood 
is  "  dull,"  with  no  prospect  of  its  rising ;  if  it  is  a 
cow  that  I  venture  in  the  market,  the  proposed 
purchaser  is  equally  voluble  in  descriptive  epithets, 
far  from  complimentary ;  she  is  "  pooty  well  on  in 
years,"  rather  scrawny,  "not  much  for  a  bag,"  — 
and  this,  although  she  may  be  the  identical  Devon 
of  my  Short-horn  friend.  If  it  is  a  pig  that  I  would 
convert  into  greenbacks  —  he  is  "flabby,"  "  scruffy," 
—  his  "pork  will  waste  in  bilin'."  In  short  if  I 
were  to  take  the  opinions  of  my  excellent  friends 

the  purchasers  —  for  truth,  I  should   be  painfully 

18 


274  MY  FARM. 

conscious  of  having  possessed  the  most  mangy  hogs, 
the  most  aged  cows,  the  scrubbiest  veal,  and  the 
most  diseased  and  stunted  growth  of  chestnuts  and 
oaks,  with  which  a  country-liver  was  ever  afflicted. 

For  a  time,  in  the  early  period  of  my  novitiate,  I 
was  not  a  little  disturbed  by  these  damaging  state- 
ments ;  but  have  been  relieved  on  learning,  by 
farther  experience,  that  the  urgence  of  such  lively 
falsehoods  is  only  an  ingenious  mercenary  device 
for  the  sharpening  of  a  bargain.  But  while  this 
knowledge  puts  me  in  good  temper  again  with  my 
own  possessions,  it  sadly  weakens  my  respect  for 
humanity. 

Amateur  farmers  are  fine  subjects  for  these  chaf- 
f erers ;  they  yield  to  them  without  serious  struggle. 
The  extent  and  manner  of  their  losses,  under  the 
engineering  abilities  of  those  wiry  old  gentlemen 
who  drive  sharp  bargains,  is  something  quite  be- 
yond their  comprehension.  It  would  be  well  if 
harm  stopped  here.  But  this  huckstering  spirit  ia 
very  leprous  to  character.  It  bestializes  ;  it  breaks 
down  the  trader's  own  respect  for  himself,  as  much 
as  ours.  The  man  who  will  school  himself  into  the 
adoption  of  all  manner  of  disguisements  about  the 
cow  he  has  to  sell,  will  adopt  the  same  artifices  and 
quibbles  about  the  opinion  he  wishes  to  force  upon 
your  acceptance.  Let  him  mend  by  showing  all  the 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  275 

spavins  in  the  next  horse  he  has  for  sale  (there  will 
be  some,  or  he  would  never  sell) ;  and  his  refor- 
mation is  not  altogether  hopeless. 


The  Bright  Side. 

rriHIS  far  I  have  been  dealing  with  the  shadows 
—  heavily  laid  on;  let  me  now,  with  a  finer 
brush,  touch  in  the  lights  upon  my  picture.  The 
chemical  puzzles,  the  disappointments,  the  isolation, 
the  fatigues,  the  chaffering  bargainers  do  not  fully 
describe  or  give  limit  to  the  good  old  profession 
of  farming.  And  even  when  these  clouds  —  hin- 
drances I  call  them — most  accumulate,  the  kindly 
sun  flashes  through,  warming  all  the  fields  below  me 
into  golden  green,  and  a  kindly  air  stirs  all  the 
poplars  into  silver  plumes,  and  I  am  beguiled  into  a 
new  and  a  more  admiring  estimate  of  the  country 
life. 

Arcadia  with  its  sylvan  glories  comes  drifting  to 
my  vision,  and  the  pleasant  Elian  fields  sloping  to 
the  sea.  A  stately  Greek  gentleman  —  Xenophon 
—  who  has  won  great  renown  by  his  conduct  of  an 
army  among  the  fastnesses  of  Armenia,  and  on  the 
borders  of  the  Caspian,  has  retired  to  his  estates  on 
the  Ionian  waters,  and  writes  there  a  book  of  max- 


276  MY  FARM. 

ims  for  farm  management,  which  are  not  without 
their  significance  and  value  to  every  farmer  to-day. 
And  hitherward,  across  the  blue  wash  of  the  Adri- 
atic, in  the  midst  of  the  Sabine  country,  which  is 
northward  and  eastward  of  Rome,  I  know  a  Roman 
farmer  —  Cato  —  who  has  been  listened  to  with 
rapt  attention  in  the  Roman  Senate,  and  who  — 
centuries  before  the  time  when  Horace  was  ama- 
teur agriculturist,  and  planted  Soracte  and  Lucre- 
tilis  in  his  poems  —  wrote  so  minutely,  and  with 
such  rare  sagacity,  upon  all  that  relates  to  country 
living,  and  to  country  thrift,  that  I  might  to-mor- 
row, in  virtue  of  his  instructions  only,  plant  my 
bed  of  asparagus,  and  so  dress  and  treat  it  (always 
in  pursuance  of  his  directions)  as  to  insure  me  for 
the  product  a  prize  at  the  County  Fair  —  if,  indeed, 
the  shoots  did  not  rival  those  famous  ones  of  Ra- 
venna —  of  which  Pliny  speaks  —  weighing  three  to 
the  pound. 

I  know  a  poet  too,  whose  music  floating  over 
Italy,  before  yet  the  battle  blasts  of  her  direst  civil 
strife  were  done,  weaned  soldiers  from  their  blood 
scent  to  the  tranquil  offices  of  husbandry  ;  and  that 
melody  of  the  Georgics  is  floating  still  under  all  the 
ceilings  of  all  the  school-houses  of  New  England. 
The  most  pretentious  and  the  most  ambitious  of  the 
later  emperors  of  the  East  —  Porphyrogenitus  —  has 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  277 

left  no  more  enduring  monument  of  his  reign,  than 
the  compend  of  agricultural  instructions,  compiled 
under  his  order,  and  bearing  title  of  "  Geoponica 
Geoponicorum. " 

I  observe,  too,  in  my  card-basket,  the  address  of 
a  certain  Pietro  di  Crescenzi,  who  has  come  all  the 
way  from  the  fourteenth-century  Bologna  to  pay  me 
a  visit  —  in  a  tight  little  surtout  of  white  vellum 
that  smacks  of  the  loves  of  Bembo,  or  of  the  wicked- 
ness of  the  Borgia  ;  and  who  has  talked  of  horses 
and  cattle,  and  wheat-growing,  and  vegetable-raising, 
as  familiarly  as  if  he  were  justice  of  the  peace  in  our 
town.  Lord  Bacon  has  contributed  to  our  stock  of 
information  about  garden  culture,  and  the  elegant 
pen  of  Lord  Kames  has  illustrated  the  whole  subject 
of  practical  husbandry.  But  I  do  not  cite  these 
names  for  the  sake  of  making  any  idle  boast  of  the 
antiquity  and  dignity  of  the  craft ;  we  have  too 
much  of  that,  I  think,  in  our  agricultural  addresses. 
We  live  in  days  when  a  calling  —  whatever  it  may 
be  —  cannot  find  establishment  of  its  value  or  worth, 
in  the  echoes  —  however  resonant  and  grateful  —  of 
what  has  once  belonged  to  it,  or  of  the  dead  voices 
that  honored  it.  The  charms  of  Virgil  and  the 
shrewd  observations  of  Cato  will  go  but  a  little  way 
to  recommend  a  country  life  in  our  time,  except 
that  life  have  charms  in  itself  to  pique  a  man's 


278  MY  FARM. 

poetic  sensibilities  —  and  lessons  in  every  field  and 
season,  to  tempt  and  reward  his  closest  observation. 

Yet  it  is  very  remarkable  how  nearly  these  old 
authorities  have  approached  the  best  points  of  mod- 
ern practice  ;  and  again  and  again  we  are  startled 
out  of  our  vanities  by  the  soundness  of  their  sugges- 
tions. Rotation  of  crops,  surface  drainage,  ridging 
of  lands,  composting  of  manures,  irrigation,  and  the 
paring  and  burning  of  stubble-lands  are  all  hinted 
at,  if  not  absolutely  advised,  in  treatises  written  ten 
centuries  ago.  Nor  have  I  a  doubt  but  that  a 
shrewd  man  acting  upon  the  best  advices  which  are 
to  be  found  in  the  various  books  of  the  Geoponica 
(the  latest  not  later  than  the  sixth  century),  and 
with  no  other  instructions  whatever  —  save  what 
regards  the  dexterous  use  of  implements  —  would 
manage  a  grain  field,  a  meadow,  or  an  orchard,  bet- 
ter than  the  half  of  New  England  farmers. 

At  first  blush,  it  seems  very  discouraging  to  think 
that  we  have  put  no  wider  gap  between  ourselves 
and  those  twilight  times.  The  gap  is,  however,  far 
wider  than  it  seems  ;  for  while  those  old  gentlemen 
made  good  hits  in  their  practice,  they  rarely  an- 
nounced a  principle  on  which  good  cultivation  de- 
pended, but  they  were  egregiously  at  fault.  The 
centuries,  with  their  science  and  added  experience, 
have  solved  the  reasons  of  things  ;  not  all  of  them, 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  279 

indeed  —  as  Liebig  in  his  last  book  needlessly  tells 
us  —  but  enough  of  them  to  enlist  a  more  intelligent 
method  of  culture.  The  ancients  recommended  a 
rule  of  practice,  because  it  had  succeeded  in  a  score 
or  a  hundred  of  trials ;  but  if  some  day  it  failed, 
they  must  have  groped  considerably  in  the  dark  for 
a  cause.  We  lay  down  a  rule  of  practice  in  obedi- 
ence to  certain  clearly  determined  natural  laws  ;  and 
if  failure  meets  us,  we  know  it  is  due  —  not  to  falsity 
of  the  laws  —  but  to  some  one  of  a  rather  wide  circle 
of  contingencies,  not  foreseen  or  provided  against. 
And  it  is  the  due  adjustment  and  measurement  of 
precisely  this  circle  of  contingencies  —  whether  be- 
longing to  weeds,  weather,  or  markets  —  which  most 
thoroughly  tests  the  sagacity  of  the  modern  farmer. 
This  sagacity  is  of  far  larger  service,  than  I  think 
scientific  farmers  are  willing  to  admit.  Over  and 
over  it  happens  that  some  uncouth,  raw,  strapping, 
unread  man  succeeds,  year  after  year,  in  making 
crops  which  astonish  the  neighborhood.  You  know 
he  has  no  science,  — -  nitrogen,  is  Greek  to  him  ;  sul- 
phuric acid,  for  all  he  can  tell,  might  lie  in  the  juice 
of  an  apple  ;  he  knows  nothing  of  fermentations  — 
nothing  of  physiology,  yet  his  crops  are  monstrous. 
His  tools  are  something  old,  though  firm  and  com- 
pact ;  his  team  is  always  in  good  order,  although 
his  barns  may  be  somewhat  shaky. 


280  MY  FARM. 

He  conld  not  himself  explain  to  you  his  success  ; 
you  perceive  that  he  manures  well,  that  he  ploughs 
thoroughly,  that  he  plants  good  seed,  that  he  hoes 
in  season.  This  is  all  ;  but  all  is  so  well  timed  by  a 
native  sagacity  —  by  an  instinctive  sense  (as  would 
seem)  of  the  wants  and  habits  of  the  crop,  growing 
out  of  close  observation  —  that  the  success  is  splen- 
did. A  man  sets  up  beside  him,  and  buys  guano 
and  fish,  and  the  best  tools,  and  employs  a  chemist 
to  analyze  his  soil  —  but  his  crops  do  not  compare 
with  those  of  his  rude  neighbor,  who  sneers  at  chem- 
istry and  fine  farming.  Of  course  I  do  not  mean  to 
join  him  in  his  sneers  ;  I  only  mean  to  illustrate 
how  a  large  sagacity,  guided  by  its  own  instincts, 
has  very  much  to  do  with  good  farming  ;  and  in  a 
way  not  clearly  explicable  —  certainly  not  explicable 
by  its  possessor. 

Just  so,  you  will  sometimes  find,  far  back  in  the 
country,  a  shrewd  old  physician,  utterly  unread  in 
the  new  books,  who  laughs  at  the  Gazette  des  Hopi- 
taux  and  the  Chirurgical,  and  yet  who  has  that  rare 
insight  which  enables  him  to  detect  and  wrestle 
with  disease  strangely  well.  His  long  observa- 
tion, his  comparison  of  trifles,  his  estimate  of  the 
moral  forces  at  work  are  so  just  and  discriminat- 
ing, that  he  brings  a  tremendous  power  of  judg- 
ment to  the  case.  Put  him  in  a  room  for  consulta- 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  28 1 

tion,  and  his  gray  eye  tweaks,  his  lips  work  ner- 
vously ;  he  cannot  enter  into  the  learned  discourse 
of  the  younger  men  of  the  profession  ;  he  is  dazed 
by  it  all  —  wishing  he  were  learned,  if  learning 
helps ;  but  when  appeal  is  made  to  him,  there  is 
such  clear,  sagacious,  homely  cut-down  into  the 
very  marrow  of  the  difficulty,  as  absolutely  con- 
founds the  young  doctors  ;  all  this,  not  because  he 
does  not  carry  learning,  but  because  he  carries  brain 
—  and  uses  it. 

Any  man  with  good  brains  may  succeed  in  farm- 
ing —  if  he  uses  them.  By  this,  I  mean  that  any 
man  with  a  clear  head  —  though  not  specially 
crammed  with  information  —  and  who  brings  a  cool, 
sagacious,  unblinking  outlook  to  the  offices  of  hus- 
bandry, will  succeed,  without  a  knowledge  of  the 
principles  on  which  its  more  important  operations 
are  based.  And  the  practice  of  such  a  man,  if  faith- 
fully recorded  in  all  its  details,  would  be  of  more 
service  in  the  illustration  of  scientific  laws,  than  the 
halting  experience  of  a  half  dozen  neophytes,  who 
work  by  the  vague  outline  of  some  pet  theory.  I 
had  rather  have  such  a  man  for  tenant  than  one 
fresh  from  the  schools,  bringing  an  exaggerated  no- 
tion of  salts,  and  a  large  contempt  for  sagacity.  If 
on  some  day  of  latter  summer  the  milch  cows  rap- 
idly fall  away  in  their  "  yield,"  I  should  expect  the 


282  MY  FARM. 

latter  to  puzzle  himself  about  the  sudden  exhaustion 
of  some  particular  constituent  of  the  milk  food,  and 
to  multiply  experiments  with  bran  or  bone-meal  for 
its  supply ;  but  I  should  expect  the  sagacious  vet- 
eran, under  the  same  circumstances,  with  a  bold 
philosophy,  to  attribute  the  shortcoming  to  the 
scorching  suns  of  August,  that  have  drunk  up  all 
the  juices  of  the  grass  ;  and  I  should  expect  him  to 
meet  the  want  by  a  lush  and  succulent  patch  of 
pasturage,  which  his  foresight  has  kept  in  reserve. 

i 

Business  Tact. 

A  KIN  to  this  sagacity  is  a  certain  business  tact, 
•^-^~  which  is  a  large  helper  to  whoever  would  suc- 
cessfully engage  in  agricultural  pursuits.  It  implies 
and  demands  adaptation  of  crops  to  soils,  exposure, 
and  the  market  wants.  It  is  eminently  opposed  to 
the  drowsiness  in  which  a  good  many  honest  coun- 
try-livers are  apt  to  indulge.  It  reckons  time  at  its 
full  value  ;  it  does  not  lean  long  on  a  hoe-handle 
for  gossip. 

The  farmer  who  turns  his  capital  very  slowly,  and 
only  once  in  the  year,  is  not  apt  to  be  quickened 
into  business  ways  and  methods.  The  retired 
trader,  who  plants  himself  some  day  beside  him, 
bringing  his  old  prompt  habits  of  the  counter,  will 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  283 

very  likely,  if  a  shrewd  observer,  outmatch  him  in  a 
corn  crop,  —  outmatch  him  in  pork,  —  outmatch 
him  in  everything,  if  the  year's  balance  were  struck 
and  shown.  And  all  this  in  spite  of  the  trader's 
comparative  inexperience,  and  by  reason  only  of  his 
superior  business  tact. 

The  finest  shows  of  fruits  at  the  autumn  fairs  — 
excepting  always  those  of  the  professed  nurserymen 

—  are  made,  in  three  cases  out  of  five,  by  mechanics, 
or  by  business  men,  who  have  brought  to  this  little 
episode  in  their  life,  the  methodical  habits,  and  the 
observance  of  details,  which  govern  their  ordinary 
business  duties.     Not  being  in  the  way  of  leaving 
book  accounts,  or  stock  on  hand,  to  take  care  of 
themselves,  they  are  no  more  inclined  to  leave  an 
investment  in  trees  or  orcharding  —  to  take  care  of 
itself.     They  reckon  upon  care  at  the  outset,  and 
they  bestow  it.     The  farmer,  who  has  complacently 
smiled  at  their  inexperience  in  tillage,  and  is  con- 
founded by  the  results,  will  loosely  attribute  them 
all  to  a  lavish  and  thriftless  expenditure  of  money. 
But  the  conclusion  is  neither  logical,  nor  warranted, 

—  in  the  majority  of  instances, —  by  the  facts.     No 
superior  fruit  can  be  grown  without  labor  and  ex- 
treme care,  and  if  these  be  controlled  by  a  business 
system,  they  will  be  far  more  economically  bestowed, 
than  when  subject  to  no  order  in  their  application. 


284  MY  FARM. 

From  time  to  time  I  observe  that  some  venerable 
old  gentleman  in  my  neighborhood  is  overtaken  by 
one  of  those  sporadic  fevers  of  improvement,  which 
will  sometimes,  and  very  strangely,  attack  the  most 
tranquil  and  self-satisfied  of  men.  The  attack  is  a 
slight  one,  of  the  orchard  type.  He  consults  far 
and  near  in  regard  to  the  best  sorts  of  fruit  He 
devotes  to  the  experiment  one  of  his  best  lots,  re- 
serving the  very  best  for  his  next  year's  patch  of 
potatoes.  The  land  he  reckons  in  "  good  heart," 
since  he  has  just  taken  off  a  heavy  crop  of  corn. 
He  digs  his  holes,  after  an  elaborate  system  of 
garden  measurement  and  stake-driving,  which,  to 
his  poor,  fagged  brain,  seems  the  very  climax  of 
geometric  endeavor.  The  young  trees  are  care- 
fully staked,  and  for  a  year  or  two  show  a  thrifty 
look.  But  the  spring  temptation  to  put  a  crop  be- 
tween the  roots  is  irresistible  ;  the  ploughing  oxen 
browse  a  few  —  knock  over  a  few  —  break  off  a  few. 
This  maddens  our  friend  into  a  "  laying-down  "  of 
the  orchard  to  grass ;  he  half  promises  himself,  in- 
deed, that  he  will  give  hand-cultivation  to  the  trees, 
—  but  he  does  not ;  his  fever  is  abating,  and  so  is 
his  orcharding.  The  mosses  fasten  on  the  young 
trees,  the  borers  play  havoc,  the  caterpillars  strip 
them,  the  rank  grass  strangles  them. 

From  beginning  to  end  there  has  been  no  busi- 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  285 

ness  forecast  of  the  requisite  labor  involved,  no 
method  in  its  prosecution  —  no  estimate  of  the 
scheme  as  a  business  operation. 

It  is  certain  that  by  a  special  dispensation  of 
Providence  in  favor  of  those  who  make  up  the  bulk 
of  the  human  family,  a  man  may  secure  a  simple 
livelihood  in  agricultural  pursuits,  with  less  of  en- 
ergy, less  of  promptitude,  less  of  calculation,  and 
greater  unthrift  generally,  than  would  be  compat- 
ible with  even  this  scanty  aim,  in  any  other  calling 
of  life.  With  a  respectable  crop  insured  by  only 
a  moderate  amount  of  attention  and  activity,  the 
temptation  to  a  lazy  indifference,  and  a  sleepy  pas- 
sivity, is  immense.  There  are  farmers  who  yield  to 
the  temptation  gracefully  and  completely.  The  stir, 
the  wakefulness,  the  promptitude  that  seize  upon 
new  issues,  develop  new  enterprises,  create  new  de- 
mands, are  as  foreign  to  the  majority  of  landholders, 
as  a  ringing  discussion  of  new  topics,  or  a  juicy 
haunch  of  Southdown,  to  their  tables. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  triumphs  of  business 
tact  —  and  of  a  just  apportionment  of  capital,  be- 
tween land  and  implements,  or  fertilizers,  the  real 
question  with  a  man  of  any  considerable  degree  of 
cultivation  who  meditates  country  life,  —  is  not 
whether  legitimate  attention  will  secure  a  tolerable 
balance  sheet,  and  the  fattening  of  fine  beeves,  but 


286  My  FARM. 

whether  the  life  and  the  rural  occupations  offer 
verge  and  scope  for  the  development  of  his  culture 
—  whether  land  and  landscape  will  ripen  under 
assiduous  care  into  graces  that  will  keep  his  attach- 
ment strong,  and  enlist  the  activities  of  his  thought  ? 
Let  us  inquire. 

Place  for  Science. 

"DECAUSE  a  man  cannot  revolutionize  fanning 
-•— '  and  its  practice  by  clean  copies  of  Boussin- 
gault  and  Liebig  under  his  arm,  or  upon  his  table, 
it  by  no  means  follows  that  an  intelligent  person 
who  is  concerned  in  rural  occupations  may  not 
profitably  give  days  and  nights  to  their  study.  Be- 
cause we  cannot  conquer  all  diseases,  and  clearly 
explain  all  the  issues  of  life  and  death  by  the  best 
of  medical  theories,  it  by  no  means  follows  that  the 
best  medical  practitioner  should  therefore  abandon 
all  the  literature  of  the  subject  The  scientific  in- 
quirers who  direct  their  view  to  agricultural  in- 
terests, deal  with  problems  which  are  within  the 
farmer's  domain ;  and  if  their  solutions  are  not  al- 
ways final  or  directly  available,  the  very  intricacy  of 
their  nature  must  pique  his  wonder,  and  enlist  his 
earnest  inquiry. 

A  magnificent  mystery  is  lying  under  these  green 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  287 

coverlets  of  the  fields,  and  within  every  unfolding 
germ  of  the  plants.  The  chemist  is  seeking  to  un- 
riddle it  in  his  way ;  while  we  farmers,  —  by  grosser 
methods,  —  are  unriddling  it,  in  ours.  Checks  and 
hindrances  meet  us  both ;  both  need  an  intimate 
comparison  of  results  for  progress.  If  we  sneer  at 
the  chemist  for  his  shifting  theories  in  regard  to  the 
nitrogenized  manures  —  no  one  of  which  is  suffi- 
ciently established  for  the  direction  of  a  fixed  prac- 
tice —  the  chemist  may  return  the  sneer  with  in- 
terest, when  he  sees  us  making  such  application  of 
a  valuable  salt,  as  shall  lock  up  its  solubility  and 
utterly  annul  its  efficacy.  It  is  a  pretty  little  duel 
for  our  intelligent  observer  to  watch :  the  chemist 
fulminating  his  doctrines,  based  on  formulas  and  an 
infinity  of  retorts  ;  and  we,  replying  only  with  the 
retort  —  courteous  and  practical.  But  always  the 
unfathomable  mystery  of  growth  —  vegetable  and 
animal  —  remains  ;  the  chemist  seeking  to  explain 
it,  and  we  only  to  promote  it.  If  the  chemist  could 
explain  by  promoting  it,  he  would  turn  farmer  ;  and 
if  farmers  could  promote  it  by  trying  to  explain  it, 
they  would  all  turn  chemists. 

Many  good  people,  of  a  short  range  of  inquiry, 
and  a  shorter  range  of  reflection,  imagine  that  when 
the  agriculturist  has,  by  the  chemist's  aid,  deter- 
mined the  elements  of  his  crops,  and  by  the  same 


288  MY  FARM. 

aid,  determined  the  merits  of  different  bags  of  phos- 
phates or  guanos,  that  nothing  remains  but  to  match 
these  chemical  colors  as  he  would  match  colts,  — 
and  the  race  is  won.  They  fancy  that  the  new  an- 
alyses and  experiments  —  so  delicate  and  so  elabo- 
rate —  are  by  their  revelations  reducing  the  art  of 
farming  to  a  simple  affair  of  the  mechanical  adjust- 
ment of  regularly  billeted  chemical  forces.  There 
could  not  be  a  greater  mistake  made  ;  so  far  from 
simplifying  issues,  the  new  investigations  demand  a 
larger  practical  skill,  since  the  conditions  under 
which  it  works  are  amplified  and  extended.  The 
old  bases  of  procedure,  if  faulty,  were  at  least  com- 
pact ;  the  experimental  farmer  dealt  with  but  few, 
and  those  clearly  defined ;  but  scientific  investiga- 
tion, by  its  refining  processes,  has  split  the  old  bases 
of  action  into  a  hundred  lesser  truths,  each  one  of 
which  must  be  taken  into  the  account,  and  modify 
our  operations. 

There  was  a  time,  for  instance,  when  science,  ob- 
serving that  a  living  plant  built  itself  out  of  the 
debris  of  dead  plants,  declared  for  the  primal  ne- 
cessity of  a  large  supply  of  decayed  vegetable  ma- 
terial. This  at  least  was  simple,  and  the  farmer,  if 
he  had  only  his  stock  of  humus,  left  the  further  ful- 
filment of  the  miracle  of  growth  to  wind  and  weather. 
In  process  of  time,  however,  science  detected  the 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  289 

rare  luxuriance  which  ammonia  imparts  to  plant  foli- 
age, and  after  refining  upon  the  observation,  declared 
for  nitrogen  as  the  great  needed  element ;  schedules 
were  prepared  and  widely  published,  in  which  the 
various  manures  were  graduated  in  value,  in  strict 
accordance  with  their  respective  admixtures  of  ni- 
trogenous material  The  quiet  farmer  accepts  the 
theory,  and  considers  the  wonderful  effects  that 
follow  the  application  of  the  droppings  from  his 
dovecot,  a  demonstration  of  its  truth. 

But  he  has  hardly  nestled  himself  warmly  into 
this  belief,  — modified  to  a  degree  by  the  humus  doc- 
trine, —  than  a  distinguished  chemist  comes  down 
upon  us  all  with  the  representation  —  supported  by 
a  large  array  of  figures  —  that  nitrogen  is  already 
present  in  ample  quantity  in  almost  all  soils,  and 
that  the  vital  necessity  in  the  way  of  fertilizers,  is 
the  mineral  element  of  the  plant.  This  splinters 
once  again  the  compactness  of  our  purpose,  and 
puts  us  upon  a  keen  scent  for  the  soluble  phos- 
phates ;  though  without  destroying  our  faith  in 
good  vegetable-mould  and  strong-smelling  manures. 

And  not  only  in  this  direction,  but  also  in  what 
relates  to  the  feeding  of  animals,  the  germination  of 
seeds,  the  comminution  of  soils,  the  chemical  effects 
of  air,  and  light,  and  warmth  —  we  have  a  hundred 
minute  truths  by  which  to  adjust  our  practical  man- 
19 


290  MY  FARM. 

agement,  where  we  had  formerly  less  than  a  score  of 
gross  ones.  And  in  this  adjustment —  modified  still 
further  by  a  great  many  physiological  and  meteoro- 
logical considerations  —  I  think  a  man  of  toler- 
able parts  might  find  enough  to  lay  his  mind  to 
very  closely,  and  to  encourage  some  activity  of 
thought 

There  will  be  disappointments — as  in  every 
sphere  of  life.  I  have  felt  them  keenly  and  often. 
The  humus  has  baffled  my  expectations,  and  my  po- 
tatoes ;  the  nitrogenous  riches  have  shot  up  into 
thickets  of  rank  and  watery  luxuriance ;  the  phos- 
phoric acid  has  oozed  into  some  unthrifty  combina- 
tion, or  has  remained  locked  up  in  an  unyielding 
nugget  of  Sombrero.  But  little  disappointments 
count  for  nothing,  when  (as  now)  we  are  reckoning 
the  pabulum  which  agricultural  employments  fur- 
nish for  intellectual  activity.  The  rural  adventurer 
may  not  only  regale  himself  with  a  considerable 
series  of  nice  chemical  puzzles  at  every  cropping- 
time,  but  he  may  give  his  thoughts  to  original  in- 
vestigation of  the  habits  of  the  plants  themselves ; 
the  career  of  a  Decandolle  could  have  had  no  finer 
start-point  than  a  country  farm  with  its  living  her- 
baria, and  its  opportunities  for  observation ;  we 
want  a  good  monograph  of  our  great  national  crop 
of  maize —  so  soon  as  the  man  shall  appear  to  make 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  291 

it.  We  want,  too,  some  Buffon  (without  his  foppery) 
to  unearth  our  field-mice,  and  to  put  a  great  tribe  of 
insect  depredators  to  flight. 


^Esthetics  of  the  Business. 

TTTHAT  is  needed,  perhaps  more  than  all  else,  in 
our  agricultural  regions,  is  —  such  intelligi- 
ble, imitable,  and  economic  demonstrations  of  the 
laws  of  good  taste,  as  shall  provoke  emulation,  and 
redeem  the  small  farmer  —  unwittingly,  it  may  be — 
from  his  slovenly  barbarities  and  his  grossness  of 
life.  Here  is  verge,  surely,  for  a  man's  cultivation, 
for  his  aptitude,  and  for  those  graces  which  shall 
fix  his  attachment  while  they  plead  their  lessons  of 
appeal. 

It  seems  hardly  necessary  to  urge  a  necessity  for 
this  direction  of  effort.  A  certain  stark  neatness, 
confined  mostly  to  kitchens,  pantries,  and  such  por- 
tions of  the  door-yard  as  are  under  the  eye  of  the 
goodwife,  mostly  limits  the  accomplishment  of  New- 
England  farmers  in  this  direction.  It  may  be  that 
a  staring  coat  of  white  paint  upon  the  house  com- 
pletes the  investiture  of  charms ;  while,  at  every 
hand,  heaps  of  rubbish  —  cumbering  the  public  road 
—  and  piles  of  straggling  wood,  dissipate  any  illu- 


292  MY  FARM. 

sion  which  a  well-scrubbed  interior,  or  the  fresh 
paint,  may  have  created. 

Here  and  there  we  come  upon  a  certain  neatness 
and  order  in  enclosures,  buildings,  and  fields  ;  but 
ten  to  one  the  keeping  of  the  picture  is  absolutely 
ruined  by  the  slatternly  condition  of  the  highway, 
to  which,  —  though  it  pass  within  ten  feet  of  his 
door,  —  the  farmer,  by  a  strange  inconsequence, 
pays  no  manner  of  heed.  He  makes  it  the  recep- 
tacle of  all  waste  material,  and  foists  upon  the  pub- 
lic the  offal,  which  he  will  not  tolerate  within  the 
limits  of  his  enclosure.  And  the  highway  purveyors 
are  mostly  as  brutally  unobservant  of  neatness  as 
the  farmer  himself ;  nay,  they  seem  to  put  an  offi- 
cious pride  into  the  unseemliness  and  rawness  of 
their  work  ;  and  it  is  only  by  most  persistent  watch- 
fulness that  I  have  been  able  to  prevent  some  bullet- 
headed  road-mender  from  digging  into  the  turf- 
slopes  at  my  very  door. 

Here  and  there  I  see,  up  and  down  the  country, 
frequent  attempts  at  what  is  counted  ornamentation 
—  fantastic  trellises  cut  out  of  whitened  planks, 
cumbrous  balustrades,  with  a  multitude  of  shapeless 
finials,  or  whimsical  pagodas  —  imitations  of  what 
cannot  be  imitated,  even  if  worthy  ;  —  but  of  the 
hundred  nameless  graces,  wrought  of  home  material, 
delighting  you  by  their  unexpectedness,  piquing  you 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  293 

by  their  simplicity,  and  winning  upon  every  passer- 
by, by  their  thorough  agreement  with  landscape, 
and  surroundings,  and  the  offices  of  the  farmer,  I 
see  far  less.  The  only  idea  of  elegance  and  beauty 
which  finds  footing,  is  of  something  extraneous  — 
outside  his  lif e  —  not  mating  with  his  opportunities 
or  purposes  —  and  only  to  be  compassed,  as  a  special 
extravagance,  upon  which  some  town  joiner  must 
lavish  his  "ogees,"  and  which  shall  serve  as  a  blatant 
type  of  the  farmer's  "forehandedness."  This  is  all 
very  pitiful ;  it  gives  no  charm ;  it  educates  to  no 
sense  of  the  tender  graces  of  those  simple,  honest 
adornments  which  ought  to  refine  the  country-liver, 
and  to  refine  the  tastes  of  his  children.  I  am  not 
writing  in  any  spirit  of  sentimental  romanticism.  If 
Arcadia  and  its  pastorals  have  gone  by  (and  I  think 
they  have),  God,  and  nature,  and  sunshine,  have  not 
gone  by :  nor  yet  the  trees,  and  the  flowers,  or 
green  turf,  or  a  thousand  kindred  charms,  which  the 
humblest  farmer  has  in  his  keeping,  and  may  spend 
around  his  door  and  homestead,  with  such  simple 
grace,  such  affluence,  such  economy  of  labor,  such 
unity  of  design,  as  shall  enchain  regard,  ripen  the 
instincts  of  his  children  to  a  finer  sense  of  the  boun- 
ties they  enjoy,  and  kindle  the  admiration  of  every 
intelligent  observer. 

A  neglect  of  these  attractions,  which  are  so  con- 


_>94  MY  FARM. 

spicuous  along  nil  the  by-ways  of  England,  and  in 
many  portions  of  the  continent,  is  attributable  per- 
haps in  some  degree  to  the  unrest  of  much  of  our 
rural  population.  The  man  who  pitches  his  white 
tent  beside  the  road,  for  what  forage  he  may  easily 
gather  up,  and  is  ready  always  for  a  sale,  will  care 
little  for  any  of  the  more  delicate  graces  of  home. 
And  with  those  who  have  some  permanent  establish- 
ment, I  think  the  root  of  the  difficulty  may  lie  very 
much  in  that  proud  and  sensitive  individuality 
which  is  the  growth  of  our  democratic  institutions. 
There  is  an  absolute  and  charming  fittingness  about 
most  of  these  humble  rural  adornments,  of  which  I 
speak,  which  our  progressive  friend  does  not  like  to 
adopt,  by  reason  of  their  fittingness,  and  because 
they  give  quasi  indication  of  limited  means  and 
humble  estate.  When,  therefore,  such  an  one  makes 
blundering  effort  to  accomplish  something  in  the 
way  of  decorative  display,  it  is  very  apt  to  take  a 
grandiose  type,  showing  vulgar  strain  toward  those 
adornments  of  the  town  which  are  wholly  unsuited 
to  his  habits  and  surroundings.  Thus  a  thriving 
ruralist  with  a  family  of  two,  will  build  a  house  as 
large  as  a  church,  and  perch  a  cupola  upon  it,  from 
which  he  may  review  the  flat  country  for  miles 
while  he  contents  himself  with  occupancy  of  the 
back-kitchen.  If  contented  with  small  space,  why 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  295 

not,  in  the  name  of  honesty,  declare  it  boldly,  in- 
stead of  covering  the  truth,  under  such  lumbering 
falsehood?  What  forbids  giving  to  the  country 
home  a  simple  propriety  of  its  own,  with  its  own 
wealth  of  rural  decoration — its  shrubbery,  its  vines, 
its  arbors,  instead  of  challenging  unfavorable  com- 
parison with  an  entirely  different  class  of  homes  ? 
If  a  man  is  disposed  to  advertise  by  naming  archi- 
tecture and  appointments — "I  am  only  farmer  by 
accident,  and  competent  (as  you  see)  to  live  in  a 
grand  way,"  there  is  little  hope  that  he  will  ever  do 
anything  to  the  credit  of  farming  interests,  or  con- 
tribute very  largely  to  the  best  charms  of  our  rural 
landscape.  The  attempt  to  better  one's  condition  is 
always  praiseworthy  ;  but  it  is  only  base  and  ignoble 
to  attempt  to  cover  one's  condition  with  an  idle 
smack  of  something  larger. 

There  will  always  be  in  every  moderately  free 
country  a  great  class  of  small  landholders,  in  whose 
hands  will  He  for  the  most  part,  the  control  of  our 
rural  landscape,  and  the  fashioning  of  our  wayside 
homes,  and  when  they  shall  take  pride,  as  a  body,  in 
giving  grace  to  these  homes,  the  country  will  have 
taken  a  long  step  forward  in  the  refinements  of  civ- 
ilization. If  I  have  no  coaches  and  horses,  I  can  at 
least  hang  a  tracery  of  vine  leaves  along  my  porch, 
so  exquisitely  delicate  that  no  sculpture  can  match 


296  MY  FARM. 

it ;  if  I  have  no  conservatories  with  their  wonders, 
yet  the  sun  and  I  together  can  build  up  a  little 
tangled  coppice  of  blooming  things  in  my  door- 
yard,  of  which  every  tiny  floral  leaflet  shall  be  a 
miracle.  Nay,  I  may  make  my  home,  however  small 
it  be,  so  complete  in  its  simplicity,  so  fitted  to  its 
offices,  so  governed  by  neatness,  so  embowered  by 
wealth  of  leaf  and  flower,  that  no  riches  in  the  world 
could  add  to  it,  without  damaging  its  rural  grace  ; 
and  my  gardeners  —  Sunshine,  Frost,  and  Showers 
are  their  names  —  shall  work  for  me  with  no  crusty 
reluctance,  but  with  an  abandon  and  a  zeal  that  ask 
only  gratitude  for  pay. 
But  let  us  come  to  details. 

Walks. 

A  WALK  is,  first  of  all,  a  convenience  ;  whether 
-*-^-  leading  from  door  to  highway,  or  to  the 
stable  court,  or  through  gardens,  or  to  the  wood,  it 
is  essentially,  and  most  of  all  —  a  convenience  ;  and 
to  despoil  it  of  this  quality,  by  interposing  circles 
or  curves,  which  have  no  meaning  or  sufficient 
cause,  is  mere  affectation.  Not  to  say,  however, 
that  all  paths  should  be  straight ;  the  farmer  whose 
home  is  at  a  considerable  remove  from  the  highway, 
arid  who  drives  his  team  thither,  avoiding  rock,  and 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  297 

tree,  and  hillock,  will  give  to  his  line  of  approach  a 
grace  that  it  would  be  hard  to  excel  by  counterfeit. 
Pat,  staggering  from  the  orchard,  under  a  bushel  of 
Bartlett  pears,  and  seizing  upon  every  accidental  aid 
in  the  surface  of  the  declivity  to  relieve  the  fatigue 
of  his  walk — zigzagging,  as  it  were  in  easy  curves, 
is  unconsciously  laying  down  —  though  not  a  grace- 
ful man  —  a  very  graceful  line  of  march.  And  it  is 
the  delicate  interpretation  of  these  every-day  de- 
flexities,  and  this  instinctive  tortuousness  (if  I  may 
so  say),  which  supplies,  or  should  supply,  the  land- 
scape gardeners  with  their  best  formulae. 

There  is  no  liver  in  the  country  so  practical,  or  of 
so  humble  estate,  but  he  will  have  his  half  dozen 
paths  divergent  from  his  door  ;  and  these  he  may 
keep  dry,  and  in  always  serviceable  condition,  by 
simply  removing  the  soil  from  them  to  the  depth  of 
eighteen  or  twenty  inches,  and  burying  in  them  the 
scattered  stones  and  debris,  which  are  feeding  weed- 
crops  in  idle  corners  ;  he  will  thus  relieve  himself 
of  the  useless  material  that  might  cumber  the  high- 
way, besides  possessing  himself  of  the  greater  part 
of  the  top  soil  removed,  for  admixture  with  his 
composts.  And  this  substitution  may  progress, 
season  by  season ;  as  the  garden  rakings  or  refuse 
material  accumulate,  he  has  only  to  remove  a  few 
cubic  yards  of  earth  from  his  paths,  bury  the  waste, 


298  MY  FARM. 

and  reserve  the  more  available  portions  of  the 
mould. 

The  same  rules  of  construction  are  good  for  all 
road-ways,  more  especially  for  the  farmer  who 
wants  unyielding  metal  beneath  his  heavy  cartage  of 
spring.  The  perfection  of  roads  of  course  supposes 
perfect  drainage,  and  a  deep  bed  of  stone  material ; 
but  I  am  only  suggesting  methods  which  are  in 
keeping  with  ordinary  farm  economies. 

There  must  needs  be  directness  in  all  paths  com- 
municating with  out-buildings,  and  the  exigencies 
of  economic  and  effective  culture  demand  the 
straight  lines  in  the  kitchen  garden  ;  but  when  I 
take  a  friend  to  some  pretty  point  of  view,  or  a  lit- 
tle parterre  of  flowers  dropped  in  the  turf,  —  we  are 
not  hurried  ;  the  dainty  curves  make  a  pleasant 
cheatery  of  the  approach.  Thus  there  is  charming 
accord  between  the  best  rules  for  landscape  outlay, 
and  the  wants  of  the  country-liver  ;  where  economy 
of  tillage  or  of  labor  demands  directness,  the  paths 
should  be  direct ;  and  where  economy  of  pleasure 
suggests  loitering,  the  paths  may  loiter.  And  so, 
they  loiter  away  through  pleasant  wooded  coppices 
—  doubling  upon  themselves  on  some  rocky  pitch 
of  hill  —  short  reaches,  concealed  each  one  from  the 
other  —  blinded  by  thick  underwood  —  wantoning 
in  curves,  until  presently  from  under  a  low-branch- 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  299 

ing  beech  tree,  there  bursts  on  the  eye  a  great  view 
of  farm,  and  forest,  and  city,  and  sea ;  always  a 
charming  view  indeed,  though  we  toiled  straight 
toward  it,  in  broad  sunshine ;  but  the  winding 
through  the  coppice,  unsuspecting,  —  busied  with 
ferns  and  lichens,  and  shut  in  by  dark  overgrowth 
against  any  glimpse  of  sky,  —  makes  it  tenfold  rav- 
ishing. 

What  if  such  walks  be  not  nicely  gravelled  — 
what  if  you  come  upon  no  grubbing  gardeners  ?  If 
only  they  be  easy  and  serviceable,  I  love  their  rain 
stains,  and  their  fine  mosses  creeping  into  green 
mats ;  I  love  their  irregular  borders,  with  a  fern  or 
a  gentian  nodding  over  the  bounds  —  a  pretty  syl- 
van welcome  to  your  tread.  There  are  little  foot- 
paths I  know,  —  only  beaten  by  the  patter  of  young 
feet,  —  winding  away  through  lawn  or  orchard  to 
some  favorite  apple  tree,  —  frequented  most,  after 
some  brisk  wind-storm,  has  passed  over,  — that  I 
think  I  admire  more  than  any  gravelled  walks  in 
the  world. 

And  there  are  other  simple  foot-paths,  which  I 
remember  loitering  through  day  after  day,  in  the 
rural  districts  of  England,  with  a  sense  of  enjoy- 
ment, that  never  belonged  to  saunterings  in  the 
alleys  of  Versailles. 

A  man  does  not  know  England,  or  English  land- 


300  MY  FARM. 

scape,  or  English  country  feeling,  until  he  has 
broken  away  from  railways,  from  cities,  from  towns, 
and  clambered  over  stiles,  and  lost  himself  in  the 
fields. 

Talk  of    Chatsworth,    and   Blenheim,   and 

Eaton  Hall !  Does  a  man  know  the  pleasure  of 
healthy  digestion  by  eating  whip  syllabub?  Did 
Turner  go  to  Belvoir  Castle  park  for  the  landscapes 
which  link  us  to  God's  earth  ? 

What  a  joy  and  a  delight  in  those  field  foot-paths 
of  England !  Not  the  paths  of  owners  only ;  not 
cautiously  gravelled  walks ;  but  all  men's  paths, 
where  any  wayfarer  may  go  ;  worn  smooth  by  poor 
feet  and  rich  feet,  idle  feet  and  working  feet ;  open 
across  the  fields  from  time  immemorial ;  God's 
paths  for  his  people,  which  no  man  may  shut ;  — 
winding  —  coiling  over  stiles  —  leaping  on  stepping- 
stones  through  brooks  —  with  curves  more  graceful 
than  Hogarth's  —  hieroglyphics  of  the  Great  Master 
written  on  the  land,  which,  being  interpreted,  say — 
Love  one  another. 

We  call  ours  a  country  of  privilege,  yet  what  rich 
man  gives  right  of  way  over  his  grounds?  What 
foot-path  or  stile  to  cheat  the  laborer  of  his  fatigue ': 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  301 


Shrubbery. 

TpvOES  the  reader  remember  that  upon  the  June 
-*->'  day  on  which  I  first  visited  My  Farm,  I  de- 
scribed the  air  as  all  aflow  with  the  perfume  of  pur- 
ple lilacs  ;  and  does  he  think  that  I  would  ungrate- 
fully forget  it,  or  forget  the  lilacs?  The  Lilac  is 
one  of  those  old  shrubs  which  I  cling  to  with  an 
admiration  that  is  almost  reverence.  The  Syringo 
(Philadelphus)  is  another  ;  and  the  Guelder-rose 
(Viburnum)  is  another.  They  are  all  infamously 
common  ;  but  so  is  sunshine. 

The  Mezereum,  the  Forsythia,  and  the  Weigelia 
have  their  attractions  ;  —  the  Mezereum,  because  it 
is  first  comer  in  the  spring,  and  shows  its  modest 
crimson  tufts  of  blossoms,  while  the  March  snows 
are  lingering ;  the  Forsythia  follows  hard  upon  it, 
with  its  graceful  yellow  bells  ;  and  the  Weigelia, 
though  far  later,  is  gorgeous  in  its  pink  and  white 
—  but  neither  of  them  is  to  be  matched  against 
the  old  favorites  I  have  named. 

Yet  it  is  after  all  more  in  the  disposition  of  the 
shrubbery,  than  in  the  varieties,  that  a  rational 
pleasure  will  be  found.  It  is  not  a  great  burden  of 
bloom  from  any  particular  shrub  that  I  aim  at.  I 


302  My  FARM. 

do  not  want  to  prove  what  it  may  do  at  its  best,  and 
singly ;  that  is  the  office  of  the  nurseryman,  who  has 
his  sales  to  make.  But  I  want  to  marry  together 
great  ranks  of  individual  beauties,  so  that  May  flow- 
ers shall  hardly  be  upon  the  wane,  when  the  blos- 
soms of  June  shall  flame  over  their  heads ;  and  June 
in  its  turn  have  hardly  lost  its  miracles  of  color, 
when  July  shall  commence  its  intermittent  fires,  and 
light  up  its  trail  of  splendor  around  all  the  skirts  of 
the  shubbery.  I  want  to  see  the  delicate  white  of 
the  Clematis  ( Virginica)  hanging  its  graceful  fes- 
toons of  August,  here  and  there  in  the  thickets  that 
have  lost  their  summer  flowers;  and  after  this  I 
welcome  the  black  berries  of  the  Privet,  or  the 
brazen  ones  of  the  twining  Bitter-sweet 

Or,  it  is  some  larger  group  with  which  we  deal  — 
half  up  the  hill-side,  screening  some  ragged  nursery 
of  rocks — and  a  tall  Lombardy-poplar  lifts  from 
its  centre,  while  shining,  yellowish  Beeches  group 
around  it  —  crowding  it,  forcing  all  its  leafy  vigor 
(just  where  we  wish  it)  into  the  topmost  shoots  ;  and 
amid  the  Beeches  are  dark  spots  of  young  Hem- 
locks —  as  if  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  lay  just  there, 
and  the  sun  shone  on  all  the  rest ;  and  among  the 
Hemlocks,  and  reaching  in  jagged  bays  above  and 
below  them  are  Sumacs  (so  beautiful,  and  yet  so 
scorned)  lifting  out  from  all  the  tossing  sea  of 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  303 

leaves,  their  solid  flame-jets  of  fiery  crimson  ber- 
ries. Skirting  these,  and  shining  under  the  dip  of 
a  Willow,  are  the  glossy  Kalmias  which,  at  mid- 
summer, were  a  sheet  of  blossoms  ;  and  the  hem  of 
the  group  is  stitched  in  at  last  with  purple  Phloxes 
and  gorgeous  Golden-rod. 

I  know  no  li mit  indeed  to  the  combinations  which 
a  man  may  not  affect  who  has  an  eye  for  color,  and 
a  heart  for  the  light  labor  of  the  culture.  There  is, 
unfortunately,  a  certain  stereotyped  way  of  limiting 
these  shrubberies  to  a  few  graceful  exotics, — which, 
of  course,  the  gardeners  commend,  —  and  of  rating 
the  value  of  foliage  by  its  cost  in  the  nursery.  It  is 
but  a  narrow  and  ungrateful  way  of  dealing  with 
the  bounties  of  Providence.  It  may  accomplish,  un- 
der great  care,  very  effective  results  ;  but  they  will 
not  open  the  eyes  of  men  of  humble  estates  to  the 
beauties  that  are  lurking  in  the  forest  all  around 
them,  and  which  only  need  a  little  humanizing  care 
to  rival  the  best  products  of  the  nurseries.  Steering 
clear  of  this  intolerance,  I  have  domesticated  the 
White-birch,  and  its  milky  bole  is  without  a  rival 
among  all  the  exotics ;  the  Hardbeam  (Oarpinus), 
with  its  fine  spray,  and  the  Witch-hazel  (Hamamelis 
virginica),  with  its  unique  bloom  upon  the  bare 
twigs  of  November,  are  thriving  in  my  thickets. 
The  swamp  Azalias,  and  the  Kalmias  I  have  trans- 


304  MY  FA  Rip. 

ferred  successfully,  in  their  season  of  flowering.* 
There  are  also  to  be  named  among  the  available 
native  shrubs,  —  the  Leather-wood  (Dirca  palustris) 
with  delicate  yellow  bloom,  glossy  green  leaves,  and 
an  amazing  flexibility  of  bough,  on  which  once  a 
year  my  boy  forages  for  his  whip-lashes  ;  the  Spice- 
wood  (Lauru8  benzoin)  is  always  tempting  to  the 
children  by  reason  of  its  aromatic  bark,  and  in 
earliest  spring  it  is  covered  with  fairy  golden  flow- 
ers ;  the  black  Alder  (Ilex  verticillata)  is  a  modest 
shrub  through  the  summer,  but  in  autumn  it  flames 
out  in  a  great  harvest  of  scarlet  berries,  which  it 
carries  proudly  into  the  chills  of  December  ;  the 
red-barked  Dog- wood  (Cornus  sanguined)  supplies 
annually  a  great  stock  of  crimson  whips,  and  a 
charming  liveliness  of  color  for  any  interior  rustic 
ornamentation,  which  a  wet  day  may  put  in  hand  ; 
the  Swamp-willow  is  the  very  earliest  of  our  native 
shrubs,  to  feel  the  heats  of  the  March  sun,  and  sea- 
son after  season,  the  little  ones  bring  in  from  its 
clump,  its  silvery  strange  tufts  of  bloom,  and  say  : 
"  The  Willow  mice  have  come,  —  and  the  spring." 

Nor  must  I  forget  the  Barberry,  beautiful  in  its 
bloom,  and  still  more  beautiful  with  its  crimson 
fruit,  —  the  May-flower,  the  Sumac,  the  Sweet-brier, 

*  A  much  safer  way  is  to  give  the  young  plants  a  season  or* 
two  of  domestication  in  a  patch  of  nursery  ground. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  305 

the  Bilberry,  with  its  fairy  bells,  and  the  whole  race 
of  wild  vines  —  among  which  not  least,  is  the  lux- 
uriant Frost-grape,  tossing  its  tendrils  with  forest 
freedom  from  the  tops  of  the  tallest  trees,  and  in 
later  June  filling  the  whole  air  with  the  exquisite 
perfume  of  its  blossoms. 

It  may  seem  that  a  great  estate  and  wide  reach  of 
land  may  be  demanded  for  the  aggregation  of  all 
these  denizens  of  the  wood,  yet  it  is  not  so ;  I  have 
all  these  and  more  than  these,  with  room  for  their 
own  riotous  luxuriance,  hi  scattered  groups  and 
copses,  without  abstracting  so  much  as  an  acre  from 
the  tillable  surface  of  the  land.  The  brambles, 
thickets,  and  unkempt  hedge-rows  which  half  the 
farmers  of  the  country  leave  to  encroach  upon  the 
fertility  and  order  of  their  fields,  work  tenfold  more 
of  harm  than  the  coppices  which  I  have  planted  on 
rocky  declivities,  and  on  lands,  else  unserviceable  ; 
or  as  a  shelter  to  my  garden  or  poultry  yard,  —  as  a 
screen  from  the  too  curious  eyes  of  the  public  ; 
—  tangled  wildernesses,  not  without  an  order  of 
their  own,  —  offering  types  of  all  the  forest  growth, 
where  the  little  ones  may  learn  the  forest  names, 
and  habit  —  a  living  book  of  botany,  whose  tender 
lessons  are  read  and  remembered,  as  the  successive 
seasons  waft  us  their  bloom  and  perfume. 

These  groups  will,  of  course,  demand  some  care 


20 


306  MY  FARM. 

for  their  effective  establishment ;  care  is  a  price  we 
must  all  pay  for  whatever  beautiful  growth  we  se- 
cure —  whether  in  our  trees  or  our  lives. 

It  is  specially  imperative  that  all  turf  be  removed, 
wherever  a  group  of  shrubs  or  forest  trees  are  to  be 
planted ;  trenching  is  by  no  means  essential,  and 
with  many  of  the  forest  denizens,  promotes  a  woody 
luxuriance  that  delays  bloom.  My  own  practice  has 
been  to  compost  the  turf  as  it  was  taken  up,  upon 
the  ground,  with  lime,  and  possibly  a  castor-pomace, 
or  other  nitrogenous  fertilizer  ;  this  I  reserved  for  a 
top-dressing,  as  the  shrubs  might  seem  to  require, 
and  no  other  application  of  manure  is  ever  made. 
Three  times,  the  first  year,  and  twice,  the  second 
year,  it  may  be  necessary  to  give  hoe-culture,  in 
order  to  keep  the  grass  and  other  foreign  growth 
in  abeyance.  After  this,  a  single  dressing  is  amply 
sufficient ;  and  on  his  after-dinner  strolls  to  the 
thickets,  the  planter  will  not  forget  his  pruning- 
knife  and  his  saw. 

A  little  patch  of  good,  and  thoroughly  tilled  nurs- 
ery ground  is  very  convenient  as  a  tender  upon 
these  wood-groups,  as  well  as  upon  the  orchard. 
Within  a  small  one  of  my  own  —  of  less  than  an 
eighth  of  an  acre,  —  I  have  now  thriving  hundreds  of 
hemlocks,  white-pines,  birches,  maples,  alders,  vines, 
beeches,  willows,  kalmias,  —  with  which  I  may  at 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  307 

any  time  thicken  up  the  skirts  of  the  established 
groups  to  any  color  I  like,  or  plant  a  new  one  upon 
some  scurvy  bit  of  land,  which  has  proved  itself  un- 
remunerative  under  other  croppings. 

Altogether,  these  shows  of  forest  foliage,  with 
here  and  there  an  exotic,  or  a  fruit  tree  thrown  in, 

—  involve  less  cost  than  one  would  give  to  an  ordin- 
ary crop  of  corn  ;  and  when  the  corn  is  harvested, 
the  crop  is  done  ;  but  with  my  shrubberies  —  of 
which  I  know  every  tree  from  the  day  of  its  first 
struggle   with  the   changed  position  —  the   weird, 
wild  growth  is  every  year  progressing  —  every  year 
presenting  some  new  phase  of  color  or  of  shape  :  — 
every  spring  I  see  my  trees  rejoicing  in  a  flutter  of 
young  leaves,  and  then  wantoning — like  grown  girls 

—  in  the  lusty  vigor  of  summer  :  in  autumn  I  look 
wistfully    on    them,   wearing    gala-dresses,    whose 
colors  I  dare  not  name,  and  when  these  are  shivered 
by  the  frost,  —  tranquilly  disrobing,  and  retiring  to 
the  sleep  of  winter. 

Rural  Decoration. 

A  MONG  the  things  which  specially  col'aibute 
•*-*-  to  the  charms  of  a  country-home,  are  those 
thousand  little  adornments,  which  a  person  of  quick 
observation  and  ready  tact  can  easily  avail  himself 


308  MY  FARM. 

of ;  and  while  gratifying  his  own  artistic  perceptions, 
he  can  contribute  to  the  growth  of  a  humble  art- 
love,  which  it  is  to  be  hoped  will  some  day  give  a 
charm  to  every  road-side,  and  to  every  country  cot- 
tage. It  is  by  no  means  true  that  a  taste  of  this 
kind  must  necessarily  —  like  Sir  Visto's  —  prove  a 
man's  ruin.  The  land  is  indeed  a  great  absorbent ; 
and  if  no  discretion  be  brought  to  the  direction  of 
outlay  in  adornments  and  improvements,  or  if  they 
be  not  ordered  by  a  severe  and  inexorable  simpli- 
city, it  is  quite  incredible  what  amounts  of  money 
may  be  expended. 

I  have  in  an  earlier  portion  of  this  volume,  hinted 
at  certain  changes  which  may  be  made,  in  the  throw- 
ing out  of  some  half-dozen  angular  and  unimportant 
enclosures,  at  the  door,  into  open  lawn  —  in  the  re- 
moval of  unnecessary  fences,  and  the  establishment 
of  groups  of  shrubbery  to  hide  roughness,  or  to  fur- 
nish shelter :  all  which  involve  little  expenditure, 
and  are  not  in  violation  of  any  rules  of  well-consid- 
ered economy.  I  may  now  add  to  these  the  effects 
of  little  unimportant  architectural  devices,  not  re- 
quiring a  practical  builder,  and  which  while  they 
lend  a  great  charm  to  landscape,  give  an  individ- 
uality to  a  man's  home. 

The  reader  will  perhaps  allow  me  to  particularize 
from  my  own  experience.  There  were,  to  begin 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  309 

•with,  some  four  or  five  disorderly  buildings  about 
the  farm-house  —  sheds,  shops,  coal-houses,  smoke- 
houses—  built  up  of  odds  and  ends  of  lumber  — 
boards  matching  oddly,  some  half  painted,  others  too 
rough  for  paint — altogether,  scarcely  bad  enough 
for  removal,  and  yet  most  slatternly  and  dismal 
in  their  general  effect.  They  were  not  worth  new 
covering  ;  painting  was  impossible  ;  and  whitewash- 
ing would  only  have  lighted  up  the  seams  and  in- 
equalities more  staringly.  A  half  a  mile  away  was  a 
little  mill,  where  cedar  posts  were  squared  by  a  cir- 
cular saw,  and  the  slabs  were  packed  away  for  fuel 
(and  very  poor  fuel  they  made).  One  day,  as  my 
eye  lighted  upon  them,  an  idea  for  their  conver- 
sion to  other  uses  struck  me,  and  fructified  at  once. 
I  bought  a  cord  or  two  at  a  nominal  cost,  and  com- 
menced the  work  of  covering  my  disjointed  and  slat- 
ternly outbuildings  with  these  rough  slabs.  It  was 
a  simple  business,  requiring  only  even  nailing,  with 
here  and  there  a  little  "  furring  out "  to  bring  the  old 
angles  to  a  square,  with  here  and  there  the  deft 
turning  of  a  rude  arch,  with  two  crooked  bits,  over 
door  or  window.  Farm  laborers,  under  direction, 
were  fully  competent  to  the  work  ;  and  in  a  couple 
of  days  I  had  converted  my  unsightly  buildings  into 
very  tasteful,  rustic  affairs,  harmonizing  with  the 
banks  of  foliage  behind  and  over  them,  and  giving 


310  MY  FARM. 

capital  foothold  to  the  vines  which  I  planted  around 
them. 

In  keeping  with  their  effect,  I  caused  gates  to  be 
constructed  of  the  cheapest  material,  from  the  cedar 
thickets ;  varying  these  in  design,  and  yet  making 
each  so  simple  as  to  admit  of  easy  imitation,  and  to 
unite  strength,  solidity,  and  cheapness.  If,  indeed, 
these  latter  qualities  could  not  be  united,  the  work 
would  not  at  all  meet  the  end  I  had  in  view  —  which 
was  not  merely  to  produce  a  pretty  effect,  but  to 
demonstrate  the  harmony  of  such  decorative  work 
with  true  farm  economy.  One  often  sees,  indeed, 
rustic-work  of  most  cumbrous  and  portentous  di- 
mensions —  overladen  with  extraordinary  crooks  and 
curves,  and  showing  at  a  glance  immense  labor  in 
selection  and  in  arrangement  All  this  may  be 
pleasing,  and  often  exceedingly  beautiful ;  but  it  is 
a  mere  affectation  of  rural  simplicity  ;  it  wears  none 
of  that  fit  and  homely  character  which  would  at 
once  commend  it  to  the  eye  of  a  practical  man  as  an 
available  and  imitable  feature.  If  I  can  give  such 
arrangement  to  simple  boughs,  otherwise  worthless, 
or  to  pine-pickets  of  little  cost  —  in  the  paling  of  a 
yard,  or  the  tracery  of  a  gate,  as  shall  catch  the  eye 
by  its  grace  of  outline,  and  suggest  imitation  by  its 
easy  construction,  and  entire  feasibility,  there  is 
some  hope  of  leading  country  tastes  in  that  direc- 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  311 

tion  ;  but  if  work  shows  great  nicety  of  construc- 
tion, puzzling  and  complicated  detail,  immense  ab- 
sorption of  labor  and  material,  it  might  as  well  have 
been  —  so  far  as  intended  to  encourage  farm  rurali- 
ties  —  built  of  Carrara  marble. 

Again  a  stone  wall,  or  dyke,  is  not  generally 
counted  an  object  of  much  beauty,  except  it  be  laid 
up  in  hammered  work  ;  this,  of  course,  is  out  of  the 
question  for  a  farmer  who  studies  economy :  but 
suppose  that  to  a  substantial  stone  fence  of  ordinary 
construction,  I  am  careful,  by  a  choice  of  topping- 
stones,  to  give  unbroken  continuity  of  its  upper  line ; 
and  suppose  that  the  abutments,  instead  of  wearing 
the  usual  form,  are  carried  up  a  foot  or  more  above 
this  line  in  a  rude  square  column,  gradually  taper- 
ing or  "battering"  toward  the  top;  suppose  upon 
this  top  I  place  a  flat  stone  nearly  covering  it,  and 
upon  this  a  smaller  stone  some  four  inches  in  thick- 
ness, and  again,  upon  the  last,  the  largest  and 
roundest  boulder  I  can  find  ?  At  once  there  is  cre- 
ated a  graceful  architectural  effect,  which  gives  a 
new  air  to  the  whole  line  of  wall.  Yet  the  addi- 
tional labor  involved  is  hardly  to  be  reckoned. 

Gates,  in  all  variety,  dependent  on  position  and 
service,  offer  charming  opportunity  for  unpreten- 
tious and  effective  rural  devices.  Far  away  in  the 
garden  it  may  be  worth  while  to  throw  a  rude  rooflet 


312  MY  FARM. 

over  one,  where  a  man  may  catch  refuge  from  a 
shower  ;  in  another  quarter,  you  may  carry  up  posts 
and  link  them  across  in  rustic  trellis,  to  carry  the 
arms  of  some  tossing  vine  ;  a  stile,  too,  where  neigh- 
bors' children,  forgetful  of  latches,  are  apt  to  stroll 
in  for  nuts  or  berries,  or  on  some  cross-path  to 
school,  may,  by  simple  adjustment  of  log  steps  and 
overhanging  roof  of  thatch,  or  slabs,  take  a  charm- 
ing effect,  and  work  somewhat  toward  the  correction 
of  that  unflinching  and  inexorable  insistence  upon 
rights  of  property,  which  induces  many  a  crabbed 
man  to  nail  up  his  gates,  and  deny  himself  a  con- 
venience, for  the  sake  of  circumventing  the  claims 
of  an  occasional  stroller. 

Eustic  seats  are  an  old  and  very  common  device  ; 
but  with  these  as  with  gateways  and  palings,  sim- 
plicity of  construction  is  the  grand  essential  I  see 
them  not  unfrequently  so  fine  and  elaborate,  that 
one  fears  a  shower  may  harm  them  ;  and  when  so 
fine  as  to  suggest  this  fear,  they  had  much  better  be 
of  rosewood  and  bamboo.  A  single  bit  of  plank  be- 
tween two  hoary  trunks  —  held  firmly  in  place  by 
the  few  bits  of  gnarled  oak-limbs  from  which  arms, 
legs,  and  back  are  adroitly  —  hinted,  rather  than 
fashioned — is  more  agreeable  to  country  landscape, 
fuller  far  of  service  and  of  suggestion,  than  any  of 
the  portentous  rustic-work  in  city  shops. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  313 

The  due  adjustment  of  colors  is  also  a  thing  to  be 
considered  in  the  reckoning  of  rural  effects ;  thus, 
with  my  old  weather-stained  house,  I  do  not  care  to 
place  new  paint  in  contrast ;  the  old  be-clouded  tint 
harmonizes  well  with  the  rustic  work  of  fences  and 
out-buildings ;  while  away,  upon  the  lawn,  or  open- 
ing into  green  fields,  or  —  better  still  —  in  the  very 
bight  of  the  wood,  I  give  the  contrast  of  a  brilliant 
and  flashing  white. 

I  am  touching  a  very  large  subject  here,  with  a 
very  short  chapter.  Indeed,  there  is  no  end  to  the 
pretty  and  artistic  combinations  by  which  a  man 
who  loves  the  country  with  a  fearless,  demonstrative 
love,  may  not  provoke  its  rarer  beauties  to  appear. 
Flower,  tree,  fence,  out-building — all  wait  upon  his 
hands  ;  and  the  results  of  his  loving  labor  do  not 
end  when  his  work  is  done ;  but  the  vines,  the  trees, 
the  mosses,  the  deepening  shadows,  are,  year  after 
year,  mellowing  his  raw  handiwork,  and  ripening  a 
new  harvest  of  charms.  And  in  following  these,  I 
think  there  is  an  interest  —  not  perhaps  quotable  on 
'Change,  but  which  rallies  a  man's  finer  instincts, 
and  binds  him  in  leash  —  not  wearisome  or  galling 
—  to  the  great  procession  of  the  seasons,  ever  full  of 
bounties,  as  of  beauties. 


MY  FARM. 


Flowers. 

is  a  class  of  men  -who  gravitate  to  the 
"*•  country  by  a  pure  necessity  of  their  nature  ; 
who  have  such  ineradicable  love  for  springing  grass, 
and  fields,  and  woods,  as  to  draw  them  irresistibly 
into  companionship.  Such  men  feel  the  confinement 
of  a  city  like  a  prison.  They  are  restive  under  its 
restraint.  The  grass  of  an  area  patch  of  greensward 
kindles  their  love  into  flame.  They  linger  by  flor- 
ists' doors,  drawn  and  held  by  a  magnetism  they 
cannot  explain,  and  which  they  make  no  effort  to 
resist.  They  are  not  necessarily  amateurs,  in  the 
ordinary  sense  of  that  term.  I  think  they  are  apt 
to  be  passionate  lovers  of  only  a  few,  and  those  the 
commonest  flowers  —  flowers  whose  sweet  home- 
names  reach  a  key,  at  whose  touch  all  their  sympa- 
thies respond. 

They  laugh  at  the  florist's  fondness  for  a  well- 
rounded  hollyhock,  or  a  true-petalled  tulip,  and  ad- 
mire as  fondly  the  half -developed  specimens,  the 
careless  growth  of  cast-away  plants,  or  the  acci- 
dental thrust  of  some  misshapen  bud  or  bulb.  I 
suspect  I  am  to  be  ranked  with  these  ;  my  purchase 
of  an  ox-eye  daisy  on  the  streets  of  Paris  will  have 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  315 

already  damaged  my  reputation  past  hope,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  amateur  florists.  If  these  good  people 
could  see  the  homely  company  of  plants  that  is 
gathered  every  winter  in  my  library  window,  they 
would  be  shocked  still  farther. 

There  is  a  careless  group  of  the  most  common 
ferns ;  a  Kose-geranium,  a  Daphne,  a  common 
Monthly-rose,  are  the  rarest  plants  I  boast  of.  But 
there  are  wood-mosses  with  a  green  sheen  of  velvet ; 
they  cover  a  broad  tray  of  earth  in  rustic  frame- 
work, in  which  the  Geraniums,  the  mosses,  the 
Daphne,  and  a  plant  of  Kenilworth-Ivy  coquette 
together.  An  upper  shelf  is  embossed  with  other 
mosses ;  there  is  a  stately  Hyacinth  or  two  lifting 
from  among  them,  and  wild  ferns  hang  down  their 
leaves  for  a  careless  tangle  with  the  Geraniums  and 
Ivy  below.  Above  all,  and  as  a  drapery  for  the 
arched  top,  the  Spanish  moss  hangs  like  a  gray  cur- 
tain of  silvered  lace. 

A  stray  acorn,  I  observe,  has  shot  up  in  the  tray, 
and  is  now  in  its  third  leaf  of  oak-hood  ;  in  the 
corners,  two  wee  Hemlock-spruces  give  a  back- 
ground of  green,  and  an  air  of  deeper  and  wilder 
entanglement,  to  my  little  winter-garden.  A  bark 
covering,  with  bosses  of  acorn-cups,  and  pilasters  of 
laurel-wood,  sharpened  to  a  point,  make  the  lower 
tray  a  field  of  wildness,  —  fenced  in  with  wildness. 


316  MY  FARM. 

The  overhanging  bridge  (I  called  it  an  upper  shelf), 
is  a  rustic  gallery  —  its  balcony  of  twisted  osiers 
filled  in  with  white  mosses  from  old  tree-stumps, 
and  the  whole  supported  by  a  rustic  arch  of  crooked 
oaken  twigs.  Finally,  the  cornice  from  which  the 
Spanish  moss  is  pendant,  is  a  long  rod  of  Hazel, 
around  which  a  vine  of  Bitter-sweet  has  twined  it- 
self so  firmly,  that  they  seem  incorporate  together ; 
and  to  their  rough  bark  the  moss  has  taken  so 
kindly,  that  it  has  bloomed  two  full  years  after  the 
date  of  its  first  occupancy.  There  are  daintier 
hands  than  mine  that  care  for  this  little  garden  of 
wildness,  and  give  it  its  crowning  grace  ;  but  here  — 
I  may  not  speak  their  praise. 

The  other  southern  window  is  at  a  farther  remove 
from  the  open  wood-fire  ;  its  floral  show  is,  there- 
fore, somewhat  different ;  and  the  reader  will,  I 
trust,  excuse  me  a  little  particularity  of  description, 
since  it  will  enable  me  to  show  how  much  may  be 
done  with  limited  material  and  space. 

Upon  the  window-sill,  —  some  eighteen  inches  in 
breadth  by  forty  in  length,  —  are  placed  four  bits  of 
oak-wood  five  inches  in  length,  squarely  sawn  from 
a  young  forest  tree,  which  serve  as  standards  or 
supports,  to  a  tray  of  plank  five  inches  in  depth,  and 
covered  with  unbarked  saplings,  so  graduated  in 
size,  as  to  make  this  base  (or  tray)  appear  like  the 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  317 

plinth  of  a  column.  This  is  filled  with  fine  garden- 
mould,  and  there  are  grooves  in  the  plank-bottom 
communicating  with  one  drainage  hole,  beneath 
which  is  placed  an  earthern  saucer.  Fitting  upon 
this  tray  is  a  glazed  case  with  top  sloping  to  the 
sun,  and  with  its  quoins  and  edges  covered  with 
bark,  and  embossed  with  acorn-cups  —  to  corre- 
spond with  the  base.  The  fitting  is  not  altogether 
so  perfect  as  that  of  a  Wardian  case,  but  quite  suffi- 
cient for  all  practical  purposes. 

Throughout  the  summer  I  keep  this  little  window- 
garden  stocked  with  the  most  brilliant  of  the  wood 
mosses  ;  a  slight  sprinkling  once  in  thirty  days 
keeps  them  in  admirable  order  ;  and  if  I  come  upon 
some  chrysalis  in  the  garden  whose  family  is  un- 
known, I  have  only  to  lodge  it  upon  my  bed  of 
mosses,  and  in  due  time  I  have  a  butterfly  captive 
for  further  examination.  As  the  frosts  approach  I 
throw  out  my  mosses,  and  re-stock  my  garden  with 
fragrant  violets  and  a  few  ferns.  These  keep  up  a 
lusty  garden  show  until  January,  when  again  I 
change  the  order  of  my  captives  —  this  time  incor- 
porating a  large  share  of  sand  with  the  earth  in  the 
tray  —  and  setting  in  it  all  my  needed  cuttings  of 
Verbenas,  of  Fuchsias,  and  of  Carnations.  They 
thrive  under  the  glass  magically  ;  and  by  early  March 
are  so  firm-rooted  and  rampant  in  growth,  that  I 


3i 8  MY  FARM. 

can  pot  them,  for  transfer  to  a  fresh-laid  pit  out  of 
doors.  I  now  amend  the  soil,  and  sprinkling  it 
with  a  dash  of  ammoniacal  water,  sow  in  it  the 
Cockscomb,  Peppers,  Egg-plants,  and  whatever  fas- 
tidious plants  require  special  care,  while  along  the 
edges  I  prove  my  over-kept  cabbage  and  clover  seed. 
All  these  make  their  way,  and  in  due  time  come  to 
their  season  of  potting,  when  I  give  up  my  little 
garden  to  a  careless  array  of  the  first  laughing  flow- 
ers of  spring. 

Can  you  tell  me  of  so  small  a  window  anywhere 
that  shows  so  many  stages  of  growth  ?  Nor  have  I 
named  all  even  yet.  A  rustic  arch,  steep  as  the  Ri- 
alto  at  Venice,  overleaps  this  tiny  garden,  and  bears 
upon  its  centre  a  miniature  Swiss  chalet,  while  down 
either  flank,  upon  successive  steps,  are  little  bronze 
mementos  of  travel  —  among  which  the  delicate  ten- 
drils of  a  German-ivy  (planted  upon  a  ledge  of  its 
own)  intertwine  and  toss  their  tender  leaflets  into 
the  doors  and  windows  of  the  chalet 

But  I  am  lingering  in-doors,  when  my  book  is  es- 
sentially an  out-of-door  book. 

I  am  not  about  to  lay  down  any  rules  for  flower- 
beds or  for  flower  culture  ;  the  gardening  books  are 
full  of  them  ;  and  by  their  aid,  and  that  of  a  dexter- 
ous gardener,  any  one  may  arrange  his  parterres 
and  his  graduated  banks  of  flowers,  quite  secundum 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  319 

artem.  And  I  suppose,  that,  when  completed,  these 
orderly  arrays  of  the  latest  and  newest  floral  won- 
ders are  enjoyable.  Yet  I  am  no  fair  judge  ;  the 
appreciation  of  them  demands  a  "  booking-up "  in 
floral  science  to  which  I  can  lay  no  claim.  I  some- 
times wander  through  the  elegant  gardens  of  my 
town  friends,  fairly  dazzled  by  all  the  splendor  and 
the  orderly  ranks  of  beauties  ;  but  nine  times  in 
ten  —  if  I  do  not  guard  my  tongue  with  a  prudent 
reticence,  and  allow  my  admiration  to  ooze  out  only 
in  exclamations  —  I  mortify  the  gardener  by  admir- 
ing some  timid  flower,  which  nestles  under  cover  of 
the  flaunting  Dahlias  or  Peonies,  and  which  proves 
to  be  only  some  dainty  weed,  or  an  antiquated  plant, 
which  the  florists  no  longer  catalogue.  Everybody 
knows  how  ridiculous  it  is  to  admire  a  picture  by 
an  unknown  artist ;  and  I  must  confess  to  f eeling 
the  fear  of  a  kindred  ridicule,  whenever  I  stroll 
through  the  gardens  of  an  accomplished  amateur. 

But  I  console  myself  with  thinking  that  I  have 
company  in  my  mal-adroitness,  and  that  there  is  a 
great  crowd  of  people  in  the  world,  who  admire 
spontaneously  what  seems  to  be  beautiful,  without 
waiting  for  the  story  of  its  beauty.  If  I  were  an 
adept,  I  should  doubtless,  like  other  adepts,  reserve 
my  admiration  exclusively  for  floral  perfection  ;  but 
I  thank  God  that  my  eye  is  not  as  yet  so  bounded. 


320  MY  FARM. 

The  blazing  Daffodils,  Blue -bells,  English-cowslips, 
and  Striped-grass,  with  which  some  pains -taking 
woman  in  an  up-country  niche  of  home,  spots  her 
little  door-yard  in  April,  have  won  upon  me  before 
now  to  a  tender  recognition  of  the  true  mission  of 
flowers,  as  no  gorgeous  parterre  could  do. 

With  such  heretical  views,  the  reader  will  not  be 
surprised  if  I  have  praises  and  a  weakness  for  the 
commonest  of  flowers.  Every  morning  in  August, 
from  my  chamber  window,  I  see  a  great  company  of 
the  purple  Convolvulus,  writhing  and  twisting,  and 
over-running  their  rude  trellis,  while  above  and  be- 
low, and  on  either  flank  of  the  wild  arbor,  their  fairy 
chalices  are  beaded  with  the  dew.  A  Scarlet-runner 
is  lost  —  so  far  as  its  greenness  goes  —  in  the  tangle 
of  a  hedge-row,  and  thrusts  out  its  little  candelabras 
of  red  and  white  into  the  highway,  to  puzzle  the 
passers-by,  who  admire  it,  —  because  they  do  not 
know  it.  A  sturdy  growth  of  Nasturtium  is  rioting 
around  the  angle  of  a  distant  mossy  wall,  at  the  end 
of  a  woody  copse  —  so  far  away  from  all  parterres, 
that  it  seems  to  passers  some  strange,  gorgeous 
wild-flower  ;  and  yet  its  blaze  of  orange  and  crim- 
son is  as  common  and  vulgar  as  the  wood-fire  upon 
a  farmer's  hearth.  Holly-hocks  —  so  far  away  you 
cannot  tell  if  they  be  double  or  single  (they  are  all 
single)  —  lift  their  stately  yellows  and  whites  in  the 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  321 

edge  of  the  shrubbery;  Phloxes,  purple  and  pink, 
hem  them  in  ;  and  at  their  season  a  wilderness  of 
Eoses  bloom  in  the  tangled  thicket. 

Dotted  about  here  and  there,  in  unexpected  places 
—  yet  places  where  their  color  will  shine  —  are 
clumps  of  yellow  Lilies,  of  Sweet- William,  of  crim- 
son Peonies,  of  Larkspur,  or  even  (shall  I  be 
ashamed  to  tell  it  ?)  of  Golden-rod  and  of  the  Car- 
dinal flower  (Lobelia).  In  a  little  bed  scooped  from 
the  turf  and  bordering  upon  the  nearer  home-walks, 
are  the  old-fashioned  Spider-wort,  and  that  stately 
Lily,  which  Raphael  makes  the  Virgin  hold  on 
the  day  of  her  espousals.  And  yet  you  may  go 
through  half  the  finest  gardens  of  the  country  and 
never  find  this  antiquated  Lily !  The  sweet  Violet 
and  the  Mignonette  have  their  place  in  these  near 
borders,  as  well  as  the  roses.  Cypress  and  Madeira 
vines  twine,  in  leash  with  the  German  ivy,  over  a 
pile  of  stumps  that  have  been  brought  down  from 
the  pasture  ;  under  the  lee  of  a  thicket  of  pines, 
among  lichened  stones  heaped  together,  is  a  group 
of  ferns  and  Lycopodiums ;  and  the  sweet  Lily  of 
the  Valley,  —  true  to  its  nature  and  quality,  — 
thrives  in  a  dark  bit  of  ground  half  shaded  between 
two  spurs  of  a  bushy  thicket. 

Of  course,  there  are  the  Verbenas,  for  which  every 
year  a  fresh  circlet  of  ground  is  prepared  from  the 


322  MY  FARM. 

turf,  and  a  great  tribe  of  Geraniums,  to  bandy  scar- 
lets with  the  Salvias  ;  and  the  Fuchsias,  too  —  though 
very  likely  not  the  latest  named  varieties ;  nor  are 
they  petted  into  an  isolated,  pagoda-like  show,  but 
massed  together  in  a  little  group  below  the  edge  of 
the  fountain,  where  they  will  catch  its  spray,  and 
where  their  odorless  censers  of  purple  and  white 
and  crimson  may  swing,  or  idle,  as  they  will  And 
among  the  mossy  stones  from  amid  which  the  foun- 
tain gurgles  over,  I  find  lodging  places,  not  only  for 
rampant  wild-ferns,  but  for  a  stately  Calla,  and  for 
some  showy  type  of  the  Amaryllidse. 

It  is  in  scattered  and  unexpected  places,  that  I 
like  my  children  to  ferret  out  the  wild-flowers 
brought  down  from  the  woods  —  the  frail  Colom- 
bine  in  its  own  cleft  of  rock,  —  the  Wild-turnip, 
with  its  quaint  green  flower  in  some  dark  nook,  that 
is  like  its  home  in  the  forest  —  the  Maiden's-hair 
thriving  in  the  moist  shadow  of  rocks  ;  and  among 
these  transplanted  wild  ones  of  the  flower-fold,  I 
like  to  drop  such  modest  citizens  of  the  tame  coun- 
try as  a  tuft  of  Violets,  or  a  green  phalanx  of  the 
bristling  Lilies  of  the  Valley. 

Year  by  year,  as  we  loiter  among  them,  after  the 
flowering  season  is  over,  we  change  their  habitat, 
from  a  shade  that  has  grown  too  dense,  to  some 
summer  bay  of  the  coppices ;  and  with  the  next  year 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  323 

of  bloom,  the  little  ones  come  in  with  marvellous 
reports  of  Lilies,  where  Lilies  were  never  seen  be- 
fore —  or  of  fragrant  Violets,  all  in  flower,  upon  the 
farthest  skirt  of  the  hill-side.  It  is  very  absurd,  of 
course  ;  but  I  think  I  enjoy  this  more  —  and  the 
rare  intelligence  which  the  little  ones  bring  in  with 
their  flashing,  eager  eyes  —  than  if  the  most  gentle- 
manly gardener  from  Thorburn's  were  to  show  a 
Dahlia,  with  petals  as  regular  as  if  they  were 
notched  by  the  file  of  a  sawyer. 

Flowers  and  children  are  of  near  kin,  and  too 
much  of  restraint  or  too  much  of  forcing,  or  too 
much  of  display,  ruins  their  chiefest  charms.  I  love 
to  associate  them,  and  to  win  the  children  to  a  love 
of  the  flowers.  Some  day  they  tell  me  that  a  Violet 
or  a  tuft  of  Lilies  is  dead  ;  but  on  a  spring  morning, 
they  come,  radiant  with  the  story,  —  that  the  very 
same  Violet  is  blooming  sweeter  than  ever,  upon 
some  far-away  cleft  of  the  hill  side.  So  you,  my 
child,  if  the  great  Master  lifts  you  from  us,  shall 
bloom  —  as  God  is  good  —  on  some  richer,  sunnier 
ground ! 

We  talk  thus :  but  if  the  change  really  come, 

it  is  more  grievous  than  the  blight  of  a  thousand 
flowers.  She,  who  loved  their  search  among  the 
thickets  —  will  never  search  them.  She,  whose  glad 
eyes  would  have  opened  in  pleasant  bewilderment 


324  MY  FARM. 

upon  some  bold  change  of  shrubbery  or  of  paths, 
will  never  open  them  again.  She  —  whose  feet 
would  have  danced  along  the  new  wood-path,  carry- 
ing joy  and  merriment  into  its  shady  depths,  —  will 
never  set  foot  upon  these  walks  again. 

What  matter  how  the  brambles  grow  ?  —  her  dress 
will  not  be  torn  :  what  matter  the  broken  paling  by 
the  water  ?  —  she  will  never  topple  over  from  the 
bank.  The  hatchet  may  be  hung  from  a  lower  nail 
now  —  the  little  hand  that  might  have  stolen  posses- 
sion of  it,  is  stiff —  is  fast 

And  when  spring  wakens  all  its  echoes  —  of  the 
wren's  song  —  of  the  blue-bird's  warble,  —  of  the 
plaintive  cry  of  mistress  cuckoo  (she  daintily  called 
her  mistress  cuckoo)  from  the  edge  of  the  wood  — 
what  eager,  earnest,  delighted  listeners  have  we 
—  lifting  the  blue  eyes,  —  shaking  back  the  curls  — 
dancing  to  the  melody  ?  And  when  the  violets  re- 
peat the  sweet  lesson  they  learned  last  year  of  the 
sun  and  of  the  warmth,  and  bring  their  fragrant 
blue  petals  forth  —  who  shall  give  the  rejoicing  wel- 
come, and  be  the  swift  and  light-footed  herald  of 
the  flowers  ?  Who  shall  gather  them  with  the  light 
fingers,  she  put  to  the  task  —  who  ? 

And  the  sweetest  flowers  wither,  and  the  sweetest 
flowers  wait — for  the  dainty  fingers  that  shall  pluck 
them,  never  again. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  325 


L'Envoi. 

~T  HAVE  now  completed  the  task  which  I  had  as- 
signed  to  myself ;  and  I  do  it  with  the  burden- 
some conviction  that  not  one  half  of  the  questions 
which  suggest  themselves  in  connection  with  Farm- 
life  in  America,  can  be  discussed  —  much  less  re- 
solved —  within  so  narrow  a  compass.  Yet  I  have 
endeavored  to  light  up,  with  my  somewhat  disor- 
derly array  of  hints  and  suggestions,  those  more 
salient  topics  which  would  naturally  suggest  them- 
selves to  all  who  may  have  a  rural  life  in  prospect, 
or  who  may  to-day  be  idling  or  planning,  or  toiling 
under  the  shadow  of  their  own  trees. 

There  are  no  grand  rules  by  which  we  may  lay 
down  the  proportions  of  a  life,  or  the  wisdom  of  this 
or  that  pursuit ;  every  man  is  linked  to  his  world 
of  duties  by  capacities,  opportunities,  weaknesses, 
which  will  more  or  less  constrain  his  choice.  And  I 
am  slow  to  believe  that  a  man  who  brings  cultiva- 
tion, refinement,  and  even  scientific  attainment,  may 
not  find  fit  office  for  all  of  them  in  country  life,  and 
so  dignify  that  great  pursuit  in  which,  by  the  neces- 
sity of  the  case,  the  majority  of  the  world  must  be 
always  engaged.  He  may  contribute  to  redeem  it 


326  MY  FARM. 

from  those  loose,  unmethodical,  ignorant  practices, 
which  are,  in  a  large  sense,  due  to  the  farmer's  iso- 
lation, and  to  the  necessities  of  his  condition.  And 
although  careful  investigation,  study,  and  extended 
observation  in  connection  with  husbandry,  may  fail 
of  those  pecuniary  rewards,  which  seem  to  be  their 
due,  yet  the  cause  in  some  measure  ennobles  the 
sacrifice.  The  cultivated  farmer  is  leading  a  regi- 
ment in  the  great  army  whose  foraging  success  is 
feeding  the  world  ;  and  if  he  put  down  within  the 
sphere  of  his  influence  —  riotous  pillage  —  wasteful 
excesses,  and  by  his  example  give  credit  to  order, 
discipline,  and  the  best  graces  of  manhood,  —  he  is 
reaping  honors  that  will  endure  :  — •  not  measured 
by  the  skulls  he  piles  on  any  Bagdad  plains,  but  by 
the  mouths  he  has  fed  —  by  the  flowers  he  has 
taught  to  bloom,  and  by  the  swelling  tide  of  har- 
vests which,  year  by  year,  he  has  pushed  farther 
and  farther  up  the  flanks  of  the  hills. 

I  would  not  have  my  reader  believe  that  I  have 
carried  out  as  yet  within  the  limits  of  the  farm 
herein  described  all  that  I  have  advised  —  whether 
in  the  things  which  relate  to  its  productive  capacity, 
or  to  its  embellishment  All  this  ripens  by  slow 
progression  which  we  cannot  unduly  hasten.  Nor 
do  I  know  that  full  accomplishment  would  add  to 
the  charm  ;  I  think  that  those  who  entertain  the 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  327 

most  keen  enjoyment  of  a  country  homestead,  are 
they  who  regard  it  always  in  the  light  of  an  unfin- 
ished picture  —  to  which,  season  by  season,  they 
add  their  little  touches,  or  their  broad,  bold  dashes 
of  color  ;  and  yet  with  a  vivid  and  exquisite  fore- 
sight of  the  future  completed  charm,  beaming 
through  their  disorderly  masses  of  pigments,  like 
the  slow  unfolding  of  a  summer's  day. 

In  all  art,  it  is  not  so  much  the  bald  image  that 
meets  the  eye,  as  it  is  the  crowd  of  suggested  images 
lying  behind,  and  giving  gallant  chase  to  our  fancy 

—  which  gives  pleasure.     It  is  not  the  mere  palaces 
in  the  picture  of  Venice  before  my  eye,  which  de- 
light me,  but  the  reach  of  imagination  behind  and 
back  of  them  —  the  shadowy  procession  of  Doges 

—  the  gold  cloth  —  the  Bucintoro  —  the  plash  of 
green  water  kissing  the  marble  steps,  where  the 
weeds  of  the  Adriatic  hang  their  tresses,  and  the 
dainty  feet  of  Jessica  go  tripping  from  hall  to  gon- 
dola.    It  is  not  the  shaggy,  Highland  cattle,  with 
dewy  nostrils  lifted  to  the  morning,  that  keep  my 
regard  in  Eosa  Bonheur ;  —  but  the  aroma  of  the 
heather,  and  of  a  hundred  Highland  traditions,  —  a 
sound  —  as  of  Bruar  water,  —  a  sudden  waking  of 
all  mountain  memories  and  solitudes. 

Again  it  must  be  remembered  by  all  those  who 
have  rural  life  in  anticipation,  that  its  finer  charms, 


328  MY  FARM. 

and  those  which  grow  out  of  the  adornments  and 
accessories  of  home,  are  dependent  much  more  upon 
the  appreciative  eye  and  taste  of  the  mistress  than 
of  the  master.  If  I  have  used  the  first  person  some- 
what freely  in  my  descriptions,  it  has  been  from  no 
oversight  of  what  is  justly  due  to  another ;  and  I 
would  have  the  reader  believe  —  what  is  true  —  that 
all  the  more  delicate  graces  which  are  set  forth,  and 
which  spring  from  flowers  or  flowering  shrubs,  and 
their  adroit  disposition,  are  due  to  tenderer  hands, 
and  a  more  provident  and  appreciative  eye  than 
mine. 

I  think  that  I  have  not  withheld  from  view  the 
awkwardnesses  and  embarrassments  which  beset  a 
country  life  in  New  England,  —  nor  overstated  ita 
possible  attractions.  I  have  sought  at  any  rate,  to 
give  a  truthful  picture,  and  to  suffuse  it  all  —  so  far 
as  I  might  —  with  a  country  atmosphere  ;  so  that  a 
man  might  read,  as  if  the  trees  were  shaking  their 
leaves  over  his  head,  —  the  corn  rustling  through  all 
its  ranks  within  hearing,  and  the  flowers  blooming 
at  his  elbow. 

Be  this  all  as  it  may,  —  when,  upon  this  charming 
morning  of  later  August,  I  catch  sight,  from  my 
window,  of  the  distant  water  —  where,  as  at  the 
first  —  white  sails  come  and  go  :  —  of  the  spires  and 
belfries  of  the  near  city  rising  out  of  their  bower  of 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  329 

elms  —  of  the  farm  lands  freshened  by  late  rains 
into  unwonted  greenness  ;  —  of  the  coppices  I  have 
planted,  shaking  their  silver  leaves,  and  see  the  low 
fire  of  border  flowers  flaming  round  their  skirts, 
and  hear  the  water  plashing  at  the  door  in  its  rocky 
pool,  and  the  cheery  voices  of  children,  rejoicing  in 
health  and  the  country  air,  —  I  do  not  for  a  moment 
regret  the  first  sight  of  the  old  farm  house,  under 
whose  low-browed  ceiling,  I  give  this  finishing  touch 
to  the  last  chapter  of  MY  FARM  OF  EDGEWOOD. 


